


True

by inatshej



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison Argent & Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banshee Lydia Martin, Beacon Hills High School, Beacon Hills is a Beacon, Betaed, Biting, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, College Student Stiles, Come Eating, Comeplay, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Cryptic Alan Deaton, Cultural References, Danny Knows, Danny Mahealani is Part of the Pack, Dead Laura Hale, Derek Gets Therapy, Derek Hale Gets Therapy, Derek Hale Needs Therapy, Derek Hale's Loft, Derek Hale's Thumb Hole Sweater, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Endgame, Did the anime destroy you too?, Drunk Texting, Dubious Morality, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Everyone is Part of the Pack, Exams, Exhaustion, Explicit Language, Fanart, Fluid Sexuality, Fortune Telling, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Frottage, Gay Stiles Stilinski, Helpful Alan Deaton, Herbalism, Herbology, High School, High School Student Stiles Stilinski, Homophobia, Humor, Implied Petopher, Implied Relationships, Jealous Derek, Jealousy, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Magic Revealed, Magic-Users, Magical Accidents, Magical Bond, Magical Danny Mahealani, Magical Lydia Martin, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Manga & Anime, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Jennifer Blake, Mind Manipulation, Mindfuck, Minor Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Monster of the Week, Monsters, Moral Dilemmas, Morality, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Nemeton, POV Stiles, Pack in College, Past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Pining, Pining Derek, Post-High School, Protective Stiles, Rough Kissing, Scents & Smells, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) is Part of the Pack, Scott is a Good Friend, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Some Humor, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Spells & Enchantments, Stargazing, Sterek Reverse Bang, Stiles Stilinski Uses A Baseball Bat, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles-centric, Stilinski Family Feels, Swearing, Tags Are Fun, Texting, The Alpha Pack, The Witcher Lore, Underage Drinking, Weird Derek Hale, Werecoyotes, Werewolf Derek, Werewolf Reveal, Witch Jennifer Blake, Witchcraft, Witches, Wolfsbane, Wolfsbane as Weapon, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000, abbreviations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inatshej/pseuds/inatshej
Summary: The point is, anything can be believed to be true now. If magic can convince Stiles that he loves Derek – weird, angry, too-many-issues Derek – then how is he supposed to know what is actually true, and what is him being mind-screwed?And Derek can go fuck this mates concept.





	True

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheerpoetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheerpoetry/gifts).



> Written for SterekReverseBang 2018 for Karin's [drawing](http://howlinghormones.tumblr.com/post/176033353640/heres-my-sterek-reversebang-drawing-to-go-along) (BY HAND CAN YOU IMAGINE you just take a paper and a pencil and you draw AND IT HAPPENS). Thank you for all your help with the US stuff!
> 
> Another huge thank you to Ikky for beta reading. You would not believe the number of dumb mistakes I've made: ''he sorts of wait'', ''can't I just sewer this mating bond'', ''sorry for no head-ups''. The fact that I thought ''doors'' was one of those weird English words that are always plural. Always.  
> Also, ''watching soup''.  
> And thank you to my boyfriend, who'd beta read my fic as well just to leave comments like ''no suggestion just sounds weird to me'' and ''unnecessary''. And his dumb jokes: highlighting ''wendigoes'' to say, ''oh? Where did it go?''. (sigh) 
> 
> Vaguely inspired by:  
> 1\. sheerpoetry's prompt for SterekExchange2017 for mates:  
> Stiles and Derek being mated through the years? (Like they always were and something felt different to Derek when he'd see or be around Stiles. But no one had any idea because they were kids and Derek couldn't articulate why Stiles "felt weird." And then the fire and there's no one around to tell him--not that he'd talk about it anyway. Basically, it takes them forever to figure out.)  
> (Bonus points if it's glaringly obvious to someone else and they're finally just like. "Dude, you're mates. He's your mate.")  
> In the end, I chose another prompt and written [Defenses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548260) but kept this in my mind. After a few weeks I thought, what if it was angsty?  
> And that's how I thought of the idea for this fic.  
> 2\. Tumblr posts about Danny and his surname's meaning.  
> 3\. [Safety in Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279837) by Survivah 
> 
> Also, I love the Internet. You can find the guidelines for haruspicy [here,](http://opsopaus.com/OM/BA/Har.html)  
> Totoro mattress is [here,](https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Totoro-Design-Mattress-Sleeping/dp/B0747NQX47)  
> and Catbus keychain is [here.](https://pl.aliexpress.com/item/Free-Shipping-20-Lot-My-Neighbor-Totoro-3-Cat-Bus-Plush-Doll-Keychain-Pendant-Gift-Plush/32807584926.html)
> 
> I recommend all the anime mentioned :)  
> Warnings for swearing, canon-typical violence, homophobia, underage drinking, and eventual smut.

Stiles' back hits the wall and he catches Derek's gaze. He isn't really angry at the display of violence, just annoyed that it's happening again.

''If you're to stay in the pack, you must listen to me,'' utters Derek, baring his teeth.

''I would listen to you if you weren't such a crappy alpha,'' replies Stiles, keeping eye contact.

''I'm the one making the decisions, whether you like them or not.''

Stiles narrows his eyes and straightens, he's as tall as Derek for Christ's sake-

''I'm the one with the knowledge, whether you like it or not,'' he argues hotly.

''Deciding to fight with us after you've already used your magic has nothing to do with yo-''

''Oh my god,'' groans Stiles, exasperated. ''Next time, I'll tell you my plans. Happy?''

Derek's fist tightens on his hoodie and Stiles contains a sigh and another eye roll.

''I'm telling you to follow my orders.''

''Fuck you,'' says Stiles, as clearly and calmly as he can muster, '' _my alpha_.''

Derek stills. His face is completely blank for a minute as he stares at Stiles, then he suddenly shuts his eyes, sways closer, and away. ''It's your decision to be here at all,'' he says finally, quieter, and lets Stiles go, then turns away and leaves.

Stiles stares after him, disbelieving. The guy's so _tiring_.

***

Supernatural bullshit really is exhausting.

The vampire reaches with his hand forward but Stiles steps to the side, dodges the claws, and retreats. Finally, the vampire swings his arm to hit Stiles and finish the fight-

but Stiles has thrown the spell, he did, he remembers, _it shouldn't be this fast-_

Stiles moves forward to throw the mountain ash.

He is still too slow, or the vampire is simply too quick, even weakened with the spell, and Stiles really has no fucking place here, in the pack. Fuck, sweat is running down his face – he can see the vampire's jaw, his elongated teeth-

Suddenly, Derek steps in and slashes his throat with a roar.

Stiles gasps for breath, running high on adrenaline. He feels something wet on his face and when he touches it with his hand, it turns out to be the vampire's blood. For a second Stiles wonders if he should store it, _the vampire's blood, you never know what you'll need_.

He tries to stop himself from throwing up when Derek turns to look at him. Stiles manages to swallow and glances back at the alpha. It's enough to convey everything from _I fucking know you think I'm helpless_ to _Thanks, I guess_.

Straightening, Stiles looks around, choosing to ignore Derek when he keeps watching Stiles. The last vampire starts retreating from Scott's reach and raises his hands.

''I admit your victory and your right to the land,'' he says with an odd accent.

No one moves, waiting, and the vampire keeps walking backward, his hands still up, until suddenly he turns and runs away.

Stiles watches the werewolves and soon can see the moment they all relax – there is no one else in their earshot.

''Isaac, Erica, Boyd, stay here to get rid of the bodies,'' orders Derek. ''The rest goes back to my place.''

Stiles turns without looking at anyone and walks towards his car. He drives, glancing nervously at the cuts on Scott's arms and grips the wheel harder. He feels gross, dirty and sweaty in September's warm night, but doesn't let himself think about it. As soon as they are at Derek's loft, he searches for the horsetail to stop the bleeding, then searches the Web for any information on wounds caused by vampires as Scott talks with Deaton, asking the same – he is the only one patient enough to deal with the vet.

It seems that horsetail is enough for now but he worries whether he has enough of the herb. Stiles swears quietly, annoyed when his hands won't stop shaking. He notes in his mind to get more of it the next time he has a chance when his arm is caught in an iron grip.

He turns immediately, tensing up – an instinctual fight or flight reaction – but it's Derek, frowning at him.

''Calm down,'' he says, staring at Stiles. ''Your heart's racing.''

''Sure,'' retorts Stiles with a grimace and wrests his hand away to go back to Scott and his cuts.

Just as he's finished applying horsetail, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd come back. They are covered in dirt and the vampires' blood, but fine.

In an hour, Stiles drives back home. His dad is fine, right, why wouldn't he be? Stiles wakes him up as he's passed out in front of the TV and waits for him to go upstairs. He drinks some water, using it as an excuse to stay put, his lips feeling dry. He checks if the front door is closed. Then, spending up the last bit of energy he doesn't really feel, Stiles checks the wards – they are unchanged.

It's fine. It's safe.

He goes upstairs, closes the door to his room, shoots a quick look around – everything's in place _it's fine_ – and leans against the wall.

_The vampire swings his arm, his claws inches away-_

Suddenly, Stiles' knees feel so weak he slides down the wall to the floor.

_-to finally finish the fight-_

Stiles' hands are shaking, he gasps for breath, staring ahead.

He is still fucking alive.

***

It's not the highlight of his life.

''I think I'll fight with Derek again today,'' he says to Scott as they walk out of school, slowly going to their cars to drive to Derek's loft.

Scott grimaces. ''Why?''

''He doesn't train us,'' Stiles answers. ''And obviously, we suck at fights if we don't train.''

Scott frowns at him. ''We do train,'' he replies. ''Weren't you-'' he starts and looks away, then tries again, ''just last week there was-''

Stiles waits for him but Scott shakes his head slowly. ''I guess you were never there.''

Stiles doesn't answer and goes to his car with a shrug, showing Scott he doesn't care when inside, he's both furious and sad. He wonders if he should regret being just human. Sure, he can use magic but he's so weak most of the spells remain unattainable.

He brushes off the thought when Derek's disappearing in the kitchen as they enter, shielded from Stiles' eyes.

''I wanted to go to Jungle when you called me about the vampires,'' he complains to the pack, laying down on the couch. ''At this rate, I'll be forever alone,'' he moans. The others either listen to him without much care or are busy with something else. Stiles feels like talking anyway. ''Maybe I should just broaden my horizons. I mean, that vampire who stayed alive wasn't that bad.''

''Dude, he looked like a glowing skeleton,'' says Scott, staring at him with wide eyes.

''So he was pale and slim.'' Stiles shrugs. ''I'm pale too. We'd match.''

''Wow, talk about low standards,'' comments Isaac dryly.

''Not low enough for you,'' retorts Stiles.

''Not gay.''

Stiles can't help glancing at him with a smirk to suggest with wiggling eyebrows, ''Not even _experimentally gay?_ ''

''Forming a relationship is a serious commitment when you're already in a pack,'' speaks up Derek, standing in the kitchen's doorframe, his face stony. ''You can't take it lightly.''

Stiles turns to him, his smile gone, eyes narrowed with irritation. ''I've sacrificed my normal life to protect Beacon Hills,'' he says. ''I'll do whatever the fuck I want with my _relationships_.''

''No one's asked you to join the pack,'' replies Derek at once, holding Stiles' gaze.

Stiles can only stare at him for a second. ''You're such an asshole,'' he says finally in a quieter voice, then gets up and turns to leave. He didn't really want to come here anyway, he's not like Erica, spending every hour she can at Derek's loft.

Walking out, he can hear Scott speaking up. ''I asked Stiles to help protect Beacon Hills. You know we need him.''

''Since when are you part of my pack, Scott?'' asks Derek, his voice low and hard.

Stiles doesn't even try to stop the scoff escaping him at the question and shakes his head, leaving the apartment.

He needs to get more Summer snowflake and horsetail from the preserve anyway.

***

Summer snowflake is gone.

Stiles doesn't share his fucking Summer snowflake.

***

Because of the search for his – _his_ plant, he comes back home late, much later than he should, already grimacing at the inevitable showdown with his father. He opens the door just to find the house empty and breaths out in relief. He wonders if his dad picked up more shifts to avoid, for now, talking with Stiles about what the fuck he's been doing out of the house so much lately, his grades slipping, his sudden silences instead of an answer to most innocent questions.

Stiles turns to the kitchen out of habit, checks the wards, reaches for the fridge for some juice. Drinking, he realizes there's a leaflet on the table and he frowns slightly, taking it up to read.

_They offer answers, solutions. They make you feel like you belong. Their leader seems to possess incredible features._

_Think, when was the last time you talked with your other friends? When was the last time you spend the time with your family? Can you develop yourself, educate yourself and follow your interests if you are in the group, or is it discouraged? Is the outside world thought to be dangerous and full of evil?_

_If you want to talk, call..._

_Huh_ , thinks Stiles, staring at the paper, _I'm totally in a cult. And Derek's our religious leader._

He snorts and takes a photo of the leaflet to send it to Scott. Once it's done, he glances at the leaflet again, his expression tensing suddenly. His dad must have left it here.

Stiles puts the leaflet down, uncomfortable.

He will have to tell him everything, sooner or later. For now, he can try to make it safer for him but they barely manage with the supernatural influx. They will slip, they will lose once and what will the normal people do then? What will his dad do, faced with whatever creature, having no idea such even existed?

Stiles sighs and puts the juice back into the fridge. Then, he steers himself to the stairs. He's too tired to think about it now, so tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or – just _some day_ – at the moment, he needs to sleep.

***

There's never enough sleep to deal with the witches.

''Really?'' asks the witch, regarding the barrier Stiles has put between them. ''Boy, this thing's too flimsy to protect your alpha.''

Stiles grimaces but can't strengthen the barrier. He is just too weak.

''You won't be able to protect your girl like that,'' she continues, watching him carefully. ''Or your family.''

Stiles can't help flitting his eyes to her, a dreadful feeling in his stomach. His dad-

The barrier suddenly brightens between them, strengthening, and the witch turns to Derek to give him a disappointed look. ''You do realize I can't allow this shit in Beacon Hills,'' she says, keeping his eyes on him. ''Your territory's too dangerous for your pack to be weak. You don't defeat whatever appears here next, and I have to suffer from disruptions in magic.''

''Not to mention people dying,'' says Stiles flatly.

''Yeah, destroyed lives,'' the witch says dismissively. '' _Sad_. That's why you need to be stronger, and the fastest way that happens is for you to take a mate, Alpha Hale,'' she states, rolling her eyes at the title.

Derek's eyes widen and he turns white. ''No. _No_ ,'' he snarls.

''Oh come on, he's cute,'' continues the witch, watching Derek.

Derek shakes his head. ''No,'' he repeats. ''I can't-''

The witch sighs. ''You see, I'm a good person. And I have magic, spells, so I can make sure you're both willing-''

Derek roars, steps ahead and slashes the air where the witch was standing.

Stiles sighs, his barrier gone after Derek's attack, and rolls his arms. After a moment, he frowns, feeling a faint scent of-

''Summer snowflake! She took my Summer snowflake and casted the transportation spell with it!'' He stares ahead, too agitated to speak. ''How _dare_ she?''

***

The next day he's gonna be late for chemistry again. Stiles curses under his breath and grimaces, speeding up even though the visibility's terrible because of the fog.

There's a woman in the middle of the road and his eyes widen in shock. He pushes the brakes at once and takes a sharp turn, adrenaline rushing through him-

It's the witch from yesterday.

He leaves the brakes and speeds up again, the Jeep's rear suddenly light. The car feels unbalanced and _shit, this is oversteer_. Stiles makes sure the front wheels point ahead and reaches out to fumble with his phone, speed-dial Derek-

too fucking late.

***

Deaton keeps looking at him, his expression completely unreadable. ''It's a weak spell,'' he says. ''It should wear off on its own during the next few days, but take this just in case,'' he continues, giving Stiles something in a glass. Stiles drinks it and almost gags at the bitter taste.

''The witch will probably return here to see if the situation got better. What she's done to you was probably just to show her power,'' explains Deaton, ignoring Stiles' disgusted face. Funny, Stiles' always thought you should be empathetic to treat others.

''What she's done,'' growls Derek, suddenly barging into the vet's office. Stiles raises an eyebrow at his dramatic entrance and, then, forgets to look away. Derek's face is stormy, his eyes going from Deaton to Stiles, his posture tense. _He's always so intense_ , muses Stiles. _It's kind of hot_.

He freezes, his eyes widening as he's still staring at Derek. Well, okay, that was unexpected, but, this face? Those arms? He's strong, obviously, he's a werewolf, but that _is_ hot, right, the muscles-

Stiles snaps his head to the side, and, feeling jittery, rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie. He keeps swinging his legs, sitting on Deaton's examination table and he's not thinking about Derek. He is annoying the vet who's trying hard to show the movement doesn't irk him, but Stiles knows better,

_forget Derek forget Derek forget Derek_

gleefully taking in Deaton's glances from the corner of his eye, but keeping his face blank.

He remembers to focus back on what Deaton's saying, but he's just explaining the situation to Derek. Stiles looks over at them.

It's not Deaton that keeps glancing at him, it's Derek, his eyes flickering to Stiles' forearms like he can't help it. At once, Stiles stops moving.

He rolls down his sleeves, keeping his gaze somewhere on the wall, waits for Deaton to pause to take a breath, jumps off the examination table, gives him a tense smile, short ''thanks'' and ''bye'', and leaves. Thank god his Jeep is fine.

***

 _Jeep is blue, and the sky is blue, and snapdragon's flowers are blue_ , passes in Stiles' mind. _I'm being weird_ , he manages to think with more clarity. Shock and blood loss, ugh.

''Wooow,'' he lets out a long sigh, laying on the green grass and staring up at the sky with its white, fluffy clouds. He can't believe the world's still this beautiful when he's just killed a wendigo, vomited and now his jeans are slowly soaking in somebody's blood. ''It's so weird I'm still alive.''

Scott hums softly in agreement, laying next to him.

''No one should have to live like this.''

Scott frowns slightly and turns to him, squinting a little to escape the strong beams from the setting sun. ''What do you mean?''

''Just this week I've learned that wendigos exist, that they look like normal humans, not like yetis in Warcraft, and I still have no idea whether they eat only human flesh or like, pasta too for a change.''

Scott doesn't answer, instead turns to watch the sky some more, and they lay side by side for a while.

''Derek killed this girl,'' says Scott, remembering a young wendigo.

''He didn't seem like he was enjoying that.''

''She was a _child_.''

''She was a cannibal and wanted to kill him.''

''Are you defending him?'' asks Scott, incredulous.

''I'm not doing anything, Scott,'' says Stiles, weary. ''I can't even think of doing anything.''

Scott is quiet for a while. ''Your dad?''

Stiles lets out a cheerless laugh. ''Thanksgiving sucked,'' he says. ''He's noticed that I keep going out at the strangest times, research instead of sleep and can't focus on anything when at home. He wanted to know what's going on, I told him _nothing, really_ , and he-'' Stiles cuts himself off, remembering his dad's broken face, the shock that Stiles is _still lying_.

''How about you tell him you have a secret boyfriend?''

Stiles scoffs weakly. ''Like who, Scott? I can't deal with Isaac on a good day, and I can't deal with Derek – I just can't deal with Derek,'' replies Stiles.

''What about someone else?''

'' _Seriously_ , Scott, _who_? You mean a threesome with Erica and Boyd, Lydia and Jackson or you and Allison?''

Suddenly, Scott goes still at his side. ''I mean, if you need-''

''No, okay, I'm stopping you right there, thank you and let's never come back to that again.''

Scott sighs and nods, relieved.

''I still think you should just tell him,'' he speaks up again when Stiles wonders whether falling asleep and worrying his dad is better than coming back home and worrying his dad.

''No.''

''I know you think you're protecting him but isn't knowing better?''

''No, because it leads him right in the middle of this shit,'' snaps Stiles. ''I'm not telling him. He's good where he is, for now, at least.''

Scott grimaces but doesn't answer.

''Your arm's okay?'' asks Stiles after a minute. It's steadily getting colder, goosebumps raising on his bare arms, he'll have to return home sooner rather than later.

''Yeah.''

''Derek's saved your life with this arm breaking to kick in the healing after the wendigo bit you.''

''Yeah.'' Scott watches the sky for a minute. ''Maybe you're right. Maybe no one should live like this, but it's Beacon Hills. You know? Whatever happens, I stay here. Because it's Beacon Hills.''

Stiles makes a face, watching the horizon turn purple and, higher on, deep, dark blue. ''I'm not sure I'm that attached to this place.'' He closes his eyes for a second and a thought strikes him. ''Crap. Don't we have a chemistry test tomorrow?''

Scott turns to him, startled, and they both say at the same time, ''Crap.''

***

Stiles puts the last jar with horsetail on a shelf and takes a step back, admiring the view. It's awesome. He has the jars with all the stuff he needed for the spells up to now in one place, from mountain ash and wolfsbane to shoreline purslane and snapdragon root, like a real witcher, not just, well, Stiles.

But it's not bad, all in all. Really. The last fight with Anuk-Ite has shown that he can make stronger barriers now – the bluish glow sure and steady no matter what happens. Derek seemed more confident, or stronger, or something, because the Anuk-Ite actually took a step back when Derek snarled at him.

Plus, Lydia actualizes the Bestiary after every fight and Stiles can already tell it's going to be a great source of information in the future.

He grimaces, not wanting to think about _the future_ , and leaves the room (with all the jars! And a huge table to figure out the spells!) to get some pizza.

Everyone is sprawled on the couch, armchairs or just on the fluffy carpet on the floor. The pack seems so relaxed Derek can't possibly be here.

He takes a bite of his pizza, ignoring Isaac's hiss when he _so accidentally_ kicked his shin and thinks that it's funny they feel this comfortable in Derek's loft but only when Derek's not here. Odd, huh?

He takes a few more bites of his slice and gives the rest to Isaac to stop him from giving Stiles death glares. He gets up again.

Derek is either outside or upstairs, and Stiles likes discovering new places, so he goes upstairs. Derek must have heard the steps because he's waiting for Stiles with a book in his hands. He keeps the page he was reading earlier with a finger and looks up at Stiles.

''Hey man,'' greets Stiles, undeterred when Derek doesn't answer. ''We have pizza, you don't, we have anime, you don't, and we have one armchair left, you probably have more.''

Derek still doesn't say anything, just keeps staring at Stiles.

''Look, do what you want, I don't care either way,'' says Stiles with a shrug, realizing only when the words have left his mouth already it's not true.

 _It's not true._ He actually cares what Derek does now.

He freezes at the thought, gives Derek a startled look and turns around to go back down.

After a while, Derek appears downstairs, takes a slice of pizza and sinks in the armchair, ignoring everyone.

Scott, ever the diplomat, blurts out, ''What are you doing here?''

Allison jabs him in the side.

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. ''This is my loft, Scott.'' He returns to watching the Fullmetal Alchemist. ''Besides, I find anime interesting.''

Stiles can't stop himself from grinning.

***

Next week, Stiles plans and fails at slipping out of his home.

''Where are you going?''

''Huh?'' he asks, even though he's understood the question. He's surprised though and definitely needs more time to think of an answer.

''Where are you going?'' repeats his dad, looking at him with a blank face.

''To Derek,'' he answers, wincing internally.

''Derek Hale?'' His dad frowns slightly, eyeing him. ''Again? Why?''

Now that's a loaded question. Stiles needs to tidy up the jars, get more water germander from the preserve, prepare more cat's claw, plus later he'll try to strengthen the wards.

''Cooking,'' he blurts out.

''You're going to Derek Hale's to cook,'' repeats his dad. Everything about him tells Stiles _Don't give me shit, kiddo_.

''Yeah,'' replies Stiles, trying hard to appear earnest, as ridiculous as cooking for Derek sounds. Although he could try making something for him. Derek's been through a lot, well, all of them have, and then some. He could totally bake a cake or someth-

he's not actually thinking that, is he.

''Why?'' repeats his dad.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

''He's got a nice kitchen.'' That, at least, is true. ''Spacious, you know, with windows, and a whole shelf with spices I'm gonna use. Good kitchen.'' Stiles nods, looks away and starts walking fast to the door. ''Going now,'' he shoots, leaving.

***

He gets to Derek's loft and, having done all the tasks, lazes on the couch with Scott, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. There are definitely too many people here and he tries to angle his attacks so that Isaac falls on the floor.

''How many of them was it this last two weeks?'' asks Isaac with a grimace, shielding himself with Boyd against Stiles' kicks.

''Two groups plus a witch,'' replies Lydia without thinking, watching the anime.

''Fuck,'' groans Isaac. ''This is fucking...'' he sighs, trailing off.

''...problematic,'' supplies Scott. Isaac snorts without much cheer.

''Call 1-800-273-8255,'' replies Stiles mindlessly and tries for one last kick. Boyd stops him half-way and Stiles wrinkles his nose, not looking away from the TV.

Isaac frowns, turning to him. ''What?''

'' _Are you struggling with a problem right now? You are not alone. Chat with a trusted HopeCoach_ ,'' he replies. '' _If you feel sad, lonely, or suicidal, call or text_ Samaritans. _If you have a problem or just want to talk with another teen who understands_ , email Teen Line,'' continues Stiles. Everyone stares at him. ''My dad keeps leaving those leaflets around the house.''

''Now _that's_ sad,'' comments Erica, looking at him.

Stiles shrugs, keeping his eyes on the anime.

They get to the second season when Derek suddenly orders, out of the blue, ''Stiles, leave.''

Normal Stiles would turn to him, already angry and ready to start yet another argument, spitting incredulous _the fuck?_ He knows that's how he should react, but instead he feels stupidly hurt, the words like a physical blow. He looks at Derek and just asks, ''Why?''

Derek, for some fucked up reason – it's always fucked up when it's Derek and why would he _regret that thought when it's true_ – looks the same as when breaking another beta's arm to kick in the healing process. His face is set in stone, his body completely still, and eyes determined.

''You need to leave.''

''But why?'' he asks again, desperate. He knows the others know he's hurt, they can smell, hear and _see it_ , but he can't not be, can't make himself not care when Derek's right here.

He's been trying. The spells, the fighting, researching – he's been doing a lot, he's been doing _so much_ and it's still-

''I can't tell who's behaving weirder,'' says Isaac, looking between them and attempting to lighten the mood.

''Is it for training?'' asks Stiles, trying to pull himself together. ''Why can't I be here?''

There's a small tick, a barely there change in Derek's expression before he smooths his features. Stiles would think it's a really well-concealed wince but he can't possibly have this much power over Derek.

''Why would you even stay for training?'' asks Derek, his voice low and unfriendly.

''Because _I am here_ ,'' Stiles states, regarding Derek intently. ''I _fight_ with you.''

Derek, who's been watching Stiles so far, suddenly looks back at the TV. ''Never mind.''

Stiles gapes at him, too focused on Derek to mind the rest of the pack.

The tension in the air, instead of slowly decreasing, is still there, the rest watching them, sitting completely still.

''Hidden camera, anyone?'' tries Isaac weakly.

Stiles snaps his head to the side, letting the topic drop.

''Trying some alternate universe spells, Stiles?'' joins Erica.

''You know I'm too weak for those,'' retorts Stiles, already regretting his words when Erica flinches. He closes his eyes, opens them and lets them stay on the floor.

''Alternate universe spells exist?'' asks Scott, staring at them wide-eyed.

''Obviously,'' shrugs Lydia. ''You've watched Coherence, right?''

Scott's eyes get impossibly bigger.

''Yeah, that one was pretty close to the truth,'' states Jackson.

Scott's shocked but there's a crease on his forehead, the one he gets when he has a feeling that something's bigger going on and he needs to think faster.

He looks to Boyd, Derek's right hand, ever calm and unbothered, for guidance.

''We've already given up on trying to understand it all,'' says Boyd, then glances at Stiles. Thank god for all the Boyds in the world who let other people's businesses stay private even when they think their friends are behaving really weird.

Scott's jaw drops.

''Okay, you've freaked him out now,'' says Allison and turns to Scott with a small smile. ''Babe, they're just teasing you.''

''But how can you be _sure_?''

Derek sighs and pointedly increases the volume.

***

The next day, Stiles idly crumbles down the dried leaves of tulasi, constantly glancing at the corridor. He doesn't need to do that now, but he waits-

and finally, Derek goes to the kitchen. Stiles counts to 120 – he isn't going to be obvious – and can't stand waiting any longer so he heads to the kitchen as well.

Leaning against the doorframe, he crosses his arms to get more confidence and stares Derek down. Like a boss. ''We need to talk,'' he states – quietly, he doesn't want the pack to know.

Derek looks at him, surprised, then glances somewhere over his arm and focuses on Stiles again. He nods slowly.

Stiles returns a nod decisively and with a quick movement of his hand, points to the back door behind Derek.

Derek watches him for a second but relents, turning around.

Stiles can feel the tension leave his body a little – the first part is over, at least. There's a cough from a corridor and Stiles almost gets a heart attack.

He turns around, startled.

Isaac sighs deeply, looking at him, then steps in to clap Stiles' arm. ''I'll make sure they bury you at least,'' he says, fake-caring.

Stiles glares at him and follows after Derek, but his lips curl up into a smile. _Good one, Isaac_.

Fuck the bright afternoon light that enhances the green of Derek's shirt which brings out his eyes, fuck.

Stiles glares at Derek's elbow, no one cares about elbows, so he shouldn't be an exception, Derek's elbow shouldn't be an exception.

''What was that yesterday?'' he asks.

The elbow was a bad idea, it's too close to Derek's bicep. And his forearm, like, seriously-

Derek doesn't answer and Stiles looks up to lock eyes with him, letting the anger rise inside. He can't read anything from Derek's face and snaps his head away, his hands in fists.

''Look, I know I'm not a werewolf – or a banshee – or a hunter – but at the very least I know-''

''That's not it,'' Derek cuts him off, stepping closer.

Stiles locks eyes with him, his mouth twisted down, his eyes narrowed. ''Oh, really? It's not that I'm the weakest fucking-''

'' _No_ ,'' Derek interrupts him again and grips his arm. Stiles is so startled at the contact he stills, watching Derek, and doesn't say anything, his lips slightly parted in surprise.

Derek takes his hand back and slowly lets out his breath, turning his head to the side. ''You don't need to be here,'' he says finally.

''I want to,'' replies Stiles at once.

He may be more surprised than Derek at the conviction in his voice.

Like, yeah, he had this talk with Scott and no one should live like this, but he can't imagine just going and leaving them all behind. As weak as his spells are, they help. As little as he can research, it's something. And now it's better anyway, his spells are getting stronger.

Derek watches him for a minute – yes, a whole fucking minute of Derek watching him, Stiles deals with it by rolling up his sleeves, getting them back down, and rolling them up again – but in the end, Derek just nods and comes back inside.

Suck it, Isaac and bright afternoon light.

***

Turns out the light doesn't matter that much.

Stiles has just found another place in the preserve with platycodon and is on his way back to Derek's loft when he notices the alpha standing motionless at the brink of the preserve, close to the apartment. Derek's in a shade. Yes, it doesn't help.

''Hey, dude,'' he greets and frowns at Derek's face. ''What's wrong?''

''Nothing,'' replies Derek roughly.

Stiles narrows his eyes. ''I can see you're hiding something.''

Derek raises eyebrows at him.

''Well, yeah, you have this stony thing going on,'' explains Stiles, undeterred. ''What is it?''

He keeps gazing at Derek, and it strikes him again how beautiful the man is. ''Come on,'' he adds, softer.

Before he can realize what the fuck he actually just said, _how_ he said it, Derek looks away.

Stiles turns to the side, following his gaze, and only then notices a dead deer lying on the ground not far from them. He narrows his eyes at the sign on the animal's back.

''What does this mean?''

''Alpha pack,'' says Derek.

''An alpha pack? What is that?''

Derek tightens his mouth and gives Stiles a quick glance. ''Everyone's at my place,'' he says and starts walking there.

Stiles nods and lets out a small sigh. Of course something's happening again.

He closes his eyes briefly, takes out his phone to take a photo of the deer and the sign, tacks away his phone again and takes the platycodon.

He follows after Derek.

***

''Six months?'' he repeats, incredulous. ''That's so much time,'' he sighs, awed, sprawled on the fluffy carpet.

Erica frowns, looking at Derek. ''So it's a pack of alpha werewolves, traveling around the world to visit newly formed packs and assess whether they are strong enough to keep their territory.'' She pauses for a second, contemplating the concept. ''Not a bad way to live,'' she comments.

Derek grimaces. ''They are acting based on tradition. I didn't know they were even still alive.''

''Why wouldn't they?''

''In the last years they have killed a lot of packs they deemed not strong enough and some opposed them, but they must have survived. They are probably much more powerful now.''

 _Awesome_ , thinks Stiles, closing his eyes.He has six months of life left and his dad, based on what he keeps leaving around the house, thinks Stiles drinks, smokes, takes drugs, has depression, belongs to a cult, has run away from home, is transsexual, pregnant, and a single mother.

***

The next day is a Saturday and it stretches long before Stiles, full of possibilities. He should research something on the alpha pack but that's six months away, six months away – and then they're dead – but still, six months away.

He gets up and has a sudden urge to eat something sweet. Hm, cookies. Everyone likes cookies, and everyone loves chocolate, so yep, chocolate chip cookies. Even Derek would probably like them.

Actually, he could just make some for Derek.

He mixes the ingredients when his dad steps into the kitchen and sits down, watching him.

He doesn't say anything so Stiles continues working, now forming the cookies. He's about to say that he'll save a couple for him if only to break the silence when his dad speaks up.

''Will you ever tell me what's going on?''

He doesn't even sound sad, only as if he's given up, and that's what startles Stiles the most.

He turns to him with wide eyes but can't hold his dad's gaze and looks away. ''I don't know,'' he says, truthful.

And now there's an alpha pack to add to everything.

Fuck.

The alpha pack that will kill them in six months – and what then? What happens with his dad? He doesn't know anything. Oh, fuck, what happens to the rest of Beacon Hills? Scott's mom? Everyone else?

And here is Stiles, baking chocolate cookies, what the fuck is wrong with him, he needs to research the shit out of the alpha pack, he needs to act-

''What's wrong?'' asks his dad, frowning at his sudden silence and tense posture.

''Nothing,'' replies Stiles immediately.

A beat of silence and then, ''Of course.''

Stiles feels his stomach turning cold. He looks at his dad, opens his mouth but the only thing he can say is, ''I'm sorry.'' His voice is thick and he swallows before repeating, ''I'm sorry.''

His dad keeps looking at him, waiting for something more, torn between uncertainty and resignation.

Stiles shakes his head and turns to the dough, calming himself down. He won't say anything more. Not right now.

''Stiles-'' tries his dad.

Stiles shakes his head again, not looking back at him. He feels terrible, like this is the disappointment that will turn out to be decisive, but he can't – it's for his dad. It _is_ for his dad.

Who stands up and leaves.

Stiles closes his eyes, suddenly devoid of any energy and desire to do anything.

***

It seems to Stiles that Derek's only energy and fuel is anger and disdain.

Derek watches anime and turns incredibly gentle and soft at the most unexpected times.

 _Derek_ , thinks Stiles, _is like a Rubik's cube_. How do you solve this shit? It makes no fucking sense.

He gave everyone in the pack a key to his loft, shrugged when Lydia told him she bought a porcelain cup for the kitchen with flowery pattern – how could you drink tea from anything else, apparently – and so, Derek's loft is now a second home for all of them. Isaac even lives there, Erica almost lives there, Boyd's over more often than not.

Still, Derek's mostly outside somewhere or upstairs, in his bedroom. Even when he comes down he's so quiet and his face remains so unreadable it feels weird to have to spend time with him.

Stiles opens the door to Derek's loft and steps in. Derek's just coming out of the kitchen and looks at him, surprised. Stiles hums a ''hi'' and pushes into his hands a small bag of cookies, takes off his red hoodie and starts pacing, all the information on the alpha pack buzzing in his mind.

''Cookies,'' he explains to Derek, who's still standing in the same spot, watching Stiles with the bag in his hands. ''They're chocolate chip.''

Stiles starts pacing again. He has the information, he just needs to think.

He comes up to Derek and watching him intently, asks, ''What are our chances against the alpha pack?''

Derek's eyes widen, but he doesn't answer.

Stiles lets out a shaky, cheerless laugh. ''Thought so,'' he says weakly and comes back to pacing. ''Fuck,'' he curses emphatically, messing his hair.

''What are you doing?'' Isaac frowns at him, stopping halfway on the stairs.

''Freaking out,'' shoots Siles, not stopping his nervous circling.

Isaac yawns, unbothered, and walks into the kitchen. Stiles can't stop sending glares after him. The anger flares in him because there's the fucking alpha pack and they're all gonna die in six months but he squishes it down in a second, remembering how he felt in the morning. _Hypocrisy, great, Stiles_.

Suddenly, Derek stands in his way. When Stiles stops, Derek puts his hand on his neck and orders, ''Calm down.''

''I need to tell him,'' Stiles blurts out. He looks up at Derek. ''How do I tell my dad about everything?''

Although surprised, Derek holds his gaze. ''Scott'll help you,'' he says.

Stiles is momentarily impressed that Derek even tries to soothe his nerves.

''And you?'' he finds himself asking, suddenly feeling vulnerable, still watching Derek's face.

Derek nods, his hand on Stiles' neck. ''Of course,'' he says, softer. In a second, however, he stiffens, turning to look back.

''Oh, don't mind me,'' says Isaac with a smirk over Lydia's porcelain cup filled with coffee, leaning against the counter. ''I can see you're having a moment.''

Stiles' first reaction is to glare at him, again, and bite back but then, he has a better idea. He smiles at Isaac sweetly. ''Would you like to have a moment with me as well?'' he asks, watching Isaac's smirk disappear. ''With _us?_ ''

''Okay, I'm going,'' Isaac raises his hands and leaves to his room upstairs.

Stiles turns to Derek and tells him what he's learned about the alpha pack. Derek listens to him, corrects some of the information and then they sit in silence. They have a pizza and in the evening, Stiles decides he has to go home _sometime._ Driving back, he asks himself why was the day spent with Derek so nice when it was Derek and it could not be nice because it was Derek-

he lets out the breath sharply and focuses on the road.

***

He needs to focus on many things.

''Dude.'' Scott actually stops walking down the corridor at school to face him properly. ''You gave Derek Hale cookies?''

 _Focus._ Did he mention that?

''Chocolate chip ones,'' specifies Stiles, pretending he doesn't know why Scott's that surprised.

''You gave Derek chocolate chip cookies,'' repeats Scott.

''Yeah.''

''Dude.'' Scott pauses for a second. ''Why did you gave them to him and not, I don't know, _to me_?''

''I care about your health.''

''And I can tell when you're lying.''

''Just,'' Stiles thinks fast,'' he's a born werewolf, you're a bitten werewolf. We need him, okay? And everyone likes chocolate chip cookies.''

''Derek liked them?''

''I dunno,'' Stiles frowns and shrugs, ''he took them. I'm positive about it.''

***

By now, Stiles believes that being positive is a _skill_. Maybe partly due to leftover Christmas magic.

''Derek, how charming of you to come through my window,'' says Stiles, plastering a smile on his face. ''Like a winter mosquito.''

Derek gives him an annoyed look which makes Stiles stupidly happy. ''I need you to find information on shifters,'' he says.

Stiles groans. ''We have the alpha pack already!''

''They change into coyotes.''

''They? As in plural?'' asks Stiles, and at Derek's nod groans again. After a second he frowns and slowly looks at Derek, narrowing his eyes. ''Coyotes? You mean, like,'' he can't stop a stupid grin, '' _werecoyotes?_ ''

''I'm not calling them that,'' replies Derek immediately.

''Life is a sum of small pleasures, Derek,'' says Stiles, grinning at him. Then, he remembers six months – less now – and quickly turns back to his laptop, the smile falling from his face. ''Werecoyotes, huh?''

***

 _Life is a sum of small pleasures_ , reverberates in Stiles' mind as he watches My Hero Academia with the rest of the pack after New Year's Eve.

''Hey,'' he says, half-sitting, half-lying on the couch in Derek's loft, ''why don't we just leave?''

They watch the anime mindlessly, the characters forming friendships, being happy, looking at the bright sky, hopeful. _You honestly don't need more in your life_ , thinks Stiles. So why are they still in this shithole, watching comedy anime that's honestly just saddening as they wait for the alpha pack, when they could, well, just leave?

The pack stares at him. ''What do you mean, just leave?'' asks Erica tentatively.

Stiles shrugs, his eyes stubbornly glued to the TV. ''Waiting for the alpha pack is as good as waiting for your death. We could all just go somewhere else.''

''That's not a possibility for me,'' speaks up Derek quietly, ''but if anyone wants to leave, they can.''

Stiles snaps his head to him, raising himself on elbows. ''Why is it not a possibility for you?''

''Beacon Hills is my territory.''

''I get that, but-''

''No,'' Derek cuts him off, locking eyes with him. ''I can't just leave.''

Stiles keeps looking at him when Isaac speaks up. ''I think I'll go.''

Scott gapes at him. ''Are you...''

Isaac shrugs, appearing indifferent. ''There's nothing for me in Beacon Hills.''

Scott's eyes widen and he frowns but Isaac looks away, pointedly returning to watching My Hero Academia. It must've been a lie.

''I'm not leaving,'' says Scott, glancing at Allison. ''Beacon Hills is my town.''

Allison nods without a word and doesn't appear surprised.

Erica hums, thoughtful. ''I thought about leaving,'' she says. When everyone looks at her, she stays motionless. ''I'm still thinking about leaving.'' Her face hardens as she tries to be still, but after a few seconds she breaks, her shoulders slumping, and she turns to Derek. ''I'm sorry, I know tha-''

''Don't be,'' he interrupts her roughly. ''You're a good beta. Any pack would be lucky to have you.''

''If Erica leaves, I'm going too,'' states Boyd quietly, looking at Derek.

Derek nods without changing his expression.

''You all think of the alpha pack like a death sentence,'' speaks up Lydia, watching them, ''when it's just another danger. We can defeat them. Of course we don't have much chance, but we _never_ do,'' she adds. ''Besides, if at any point we'll be sure of our defeat, there is a chance I could take you out of it. There's a coven of witches-''

Allison snaps her head to her, horrified. ''No, Lydia, that's-''

''I've made a pact,'' finishes Lydia, ignoring Allison. ''It's the last resort but with them, we have a chance against the alpha pack.''

''At the expense of your life,'' interrupts Allison, sitting up straight. Lydia grimaces and opens her mouth but Allison continues, ''They want you just for your magic. You won't go to college, you won't get a job, you'll lose your family and friends just for the possibility of the growth in your magic _if you don't die first_.''

Lydia purses her lips. ''It's still a way for us to live.''

''It's not a way for me,'' says Jackson lowly. ''If you stay, I stay too, but I won't let them take you.''

''There isn't much you can do against the coven of witches,'' says Lydia, but her voice is softer now.

''Then I'll die trying,'' states Jackson simply, barely constraining anger. ''What's the difference?''

***

There is a difference between waking up suddenly to your alarm clock and regaining consciousness slowly, by increments.

A few hours later, Stiles doesn't know where he's at, can't tell what time or even day it is – but that's okay. He feels warm, comfortable and _safe_. He takes in the air and realizes that whatever he's lying on smells nice. He moves his head a bit to smell it again, only then realizing he's lying on someone. It's not Scott or Allison, or Lydia...

He starts to sit up without a hurry and slowly opens his eyes.

It's Derek.

Stiles blinks and watches him for a while. He seems so different asleep, calm and relaxed. He shifts a bit, realigning his body without Stiles at his side.

Stiles hears a soft noise from the other side. It's the TV, My Hero Academia still playing in the background. The volume is low as to not bother anyone but still high enough for werewolves to recognize the sounds.

The rest of the pack is still asleep apart from Lydia and Jackson, who must have left already. Stiles notices the remote in Isaac's hand and smirks. He was probably the last one to stay up watching the anime.

Stiles sighs and stands up. He really wants to stay and get back to sleep but his dad is suspicious enough of Derek and the group as it is. He goes to wake up Scott and Allison to drive them back as well.

***

Stiles didn't get much sleep that night. He had to get up early to finish preparing cat's claw and now, at lunchtime, he's barely alive.

Some students pass their table and seeing them, snicker. Stiles grimaces, realizing they must look like they have a horrible hangover.

He wishes it was true.

''Hey,'' he mutters, wondering if anyone hears him and is able to respond, ''where's Isaac?''

''Danny,'' mumbles Erica, her eyes shut. ''Presentation. History.''

Stiles frowns, trying to ingest the information. ''Deadline?''

''In two weeks,'' replies Boyd, then glares at Stiles.

Stiles raises his hands in submission. ''Kinda early,'' he comments, just to annoy Boyd, but neither he nor Erica reacts, both too tired.

Stiles sinks lower in his chair, then puts his head on the table, hiding in his arms. He's at the point of falling asleep when he gets an odd feeling.

He straightens and notices a pair of new students, a guy and a girl.

He narrows his eyes at them and elbows Scott, who jerks awake and stares at him, uncomprehending.

''Who are those two?'' asks Stiles with a tilt of his head.

''I don't know,'' mutters Scott, tired.

''Yeah, but, are they something or something?''

''What?''

Stiles bares his teeth and holds up his hands to resemble claws in the answer.

Scott blinks at first but seems to understand and watches the pair more intently now. The girl looks back and narrows her eyes at them, then passes their table with the guy.

''I can't tell,'' says Scott quietly. ''Maybe.''

Stiles sighs and hides his face in his hands. ''I'll tell Derek about them.''

First, though, he will run a test.

They have an English class together with the new students. Stiles knows by now how far and how well the werewolves can hear. He smiles slightly and leans over to Scott. There's one topic that always gets to teenagers.

''Hey, this new girl is here,'' he whispers to Scott, eyeing her carefully. She tenses.

''She is kinda cute, isn't she?'' continues Stiles, ignoring Scott's horrified face. The girl sits completely still. He will have to improvise. There isn't much he can see from a distance, so something vague, maybe.

''She has nice hair,'' he adds. After a second, the girl lifts her hand to tuck some hair behind her ear. Stiles smirks and gives Scott a look which Scott thankfully understands.

So the first part of the plan went smoothly. The second doesn't.

Stiles attempts to sneak into the bathroom but the girl turns to look at him and gives him the most terrifying flirtatious smile he's ever seen.

He starts sweating profusely and tries to smile, then looks away. He must look like a dork but can't bring himself to care. He needs to call Derek but is afraid the girl will hear him so he has to send a text.

Stiles: sth STH alert at sql

Derek: ?

Stiles: told u its code for supernatural

Derek: I was sure you were joking. And it's a dumb code. I thought we agreed to use yellow, red and black.

Stiles: ohhh right

 _Right, there was something like that_ , admits Stiles in his thoughts. Yellow for suspicions from afar, red for being in contact with suspicious people and black for when one side attempted to hurt another.

Stiles: yellow sql new students

Derek: I can't believe you wrote sql.

Stiles: i can give you the whole A/S/L

Stiles sends the text and only then realizes it sounds like he's flirting.

Derek: okay KISS and stay with the pack

Stiles: i know that acronym im not gonna fall for that

Derek: Why wouldn't I want you to fall for that? I'm aware of both meanings.

Stiles: thats kinda ooc for u dude

Derek: You know me that well?

Stiles stares at the text and realizes he's blushing. He is _texting Derek and blushing_. He decides he should stop the discussion before it leads – wherever it could lead.

Stiles: 17/M&F/sql

Stiles: scott couldnt tell if they r human or not but ive a bad feeling

Stiles: code yellow

Stiles: i repeat, code yellow

Stiles: do u copy?

Derek: Are you playing walkie talkie w/ me

Stiles: you have to say 10-4

Derek: ...roger that.

Stiles: TY&TIA

Derek: TTYL

Stiles can only shake his head in disbelief.

***

When the pack finds Derek, he's standing on the verge of the preserve and Stiles stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. Derek's covered in blood, breathing hard, his clothes torn.

''Are you okay?'' Stiles blurts out, horrified.

Derek raises his head to meet his gaze. ''Stiles,'' he says, then nods.

''Where are they?'' asks Stiles, walking closer to him.

Slowly, Derek starts smiling. There's blood on his teeth. ''Gone,'' he replies.

Stiles swallows, unsure what Derek's continuous gaze on him means. ''Gone?''

''Dealt with,'' says Derek, straightening. He looks different – or maybe he just looks like an alpha werewolf, confident, powerful, and not entirely human.

''Dead?'' asks Stiles, eyeing Derek, who's hurt. Normally, Stiles would press him about that but now, Derek seems so different he decides to stay quiet and get him to Deaton as soon as he can.

''You killed them?'' cuts in Scott.

Stiles tenses, not wanting to hear this argument now.

Derek narrows his eyes. ''They killed on my territory,'' he snarls.

''Did they?'' asks Scott, not wanting to give up on being The Conscience just yet.

''Three murders,'' speaks up Stiles, remembering the police's information.

''How long have they been here?'' frowns Allison.

''They breached the line yesterday,'' replies Derek in a low voice.

There is a silence before Isaac mutters, ''Wish I was that productive.''

Erica lets out a short, startled laugh.

Stiles licks his lips and glances up at Derek, seeing just as he raises his eyes to meet his.

''Do we need to get rid of-''

''No,'' Derek interrupts Stiles, his voice suddenly softer. ''It's all done.''

Stiles doesn't let himself look at Derek's eyes for too long, afraid he'll lose focus. ''Okay,'' he says, trying to sound more decisive than he feels, and nods. ''Let's go to Deaton.''

The pack is silent, watching them, so Stiles starts talking again to direct their attention somewhere else.

''I thought you'll take a look at them, that's all,'' he says in a hurried manner. ''I didn't mean for you to go out there and fight them by yourself. What were they anyway?''

''Shapeshifters. Changed into coyotes.''

''Fight a _werecoyote_ , what the fuck even is a werecoyote,'' he says, trying not to notice the blood on Derek's body too much. ''At least I managed to find something on them.''

The blood keeps dripping on the ground and he stares at the traces. The evening, the full moon and a light fog only strengthen the impression of a scene from a B horror movie.

''Yeah, okay, I don't care what you say, you're taking this shirt,'' says Stiles, slipping out of his red hoodie and ripping part of his tee away to wrap it around Derek's arm. ''Why isn't it healing?''

''Venom, probably,'' says Derek, unconcerned.

''Yeah, no shit,'' responds Stiles weakly and rips more rags to wrap them around Derek's arm. The blood soaks through almost immediately.

Stiles feels Derek's hand on his shoulder and turns to him, surprised.

''Thank you,'' says Derek, watching him.

Stiles looks back and for a second, it fees like there's only them in the world, no one else.

He drags his eyes away forcefully and finds Boyd. He tries to convey _go check on those two's remains_ , pointing with his eyes back to the preserve and, surprisingly, Boyd seems to understand, nodding almost imperceptibly and incrementally slowing his pace to stay behind.

Derek doesn't seem to notice any of it but he's steadily getting paler and is sweating a lot, so Stiles hurries up the pace. When he glances down to check if the werewolf has any other injuries, he notices instead there is just a half of his own shirt remaining.

It startles the laugh out of him. ''Dude,'' he gasps and laughs again, gesturing at his nude stomach, ''it's like I'm a street hooker. You know, the cheap kind,'' he says and laughs even more at Scott's incredulous stare. His low hanging jeans only strengthen the impression. ''Guys!'' calls Stiles, grinning. ''Look, I'm like a desperate hooker!''

''Still not interested!'' calls back Isaac.

Stiles glances at Derek and notices the werewolf's gaze on his abdominal hair. He flushes and swallows, looking straight ahead. He can't tell if he should pull his hoodie on again or not, and finally decides to stay as he is, only putting it back on the way to Deaton.

They come in and Derek lays down on the examination table, shivering.

Deaton starts to clean his wounds at once. When he's finished, he steps back and says, ''Derek'll be fine in a few hours.''

''Hours?'' repeats Stiles, disbelieving. ''God, why does this keep happening?''

''Your pack is too young. The creatures come here to claim the territory as their own.''

''Yeah, like the alpha pack. Awesome,'' grumbles Stiles.

''If you defeat the alpha pack, no one will question Beacon Hills anymore.''

Stiles perks up, looking up at Deaton. ''What, really?''

''But the supernatural creatures will keep on coming here.''

''What,'' gasps Stiles again. ''Why?''

''It's because of the Nemeton.''

Stiles sighs and nods. ''Okay. How do we kill it?''

''You can't kill it.''

''Sure,'' Stiles nods again. ''So how do we kill it?''

''It's a tree,'' says Deaton, watching him. ''You cannot kill it.''

''Okay, can we burn it?''

''Stiles, the Nemeton is the origin of the ancient magic. Your spells are working thanks to the Nemeton.''

''Can't we just cut it down?''

''No,'' repeats Deaton, his voice hard. ''You can't.''

'' _I_ can't? Then what about Scott?''

Deaton gives him an unimpressed look.

Stiles makes a face at him and turns to Scott anyway. ''Okay, now you try.''

Deaton keeps looking at Stiles, but turns to Scott when he asks, ''So what can we do against this Nemeton?''

''Reduce its power. I'll need Stiles' spark for that spell.''

''Stiles' right here,'' bristles Stiles.

''I know,'' replies Deaton.

Stiles has never been good at giving unimpressed looks, so he shows Deaton his tongue.

***

Being mature, Stiles supposes, is in part about fulfilling your responsibilities. The SAT is behind him now, fortunately, but he still has to watch out for his GPA and submit a nice essay to get the scholarship.

Defending Beacon Hills is not his responsibility. Stiles isn't sure why he's back at Derek's loft instead of studying or reading about Berkeley.

''Oh, hey,'' he says. ''How are you feeling?''

''Fine,'' replies Derek curtly, not looking at him.

''Uh.'' Stiles glances at him, Derek's attitude startling him, ''Your wounds-''

''Healed,'' Derek cuts him off.

Stiles bites his lip and shifts his weight, wondering if he should press the issue when Derek's not in the mood. The question bothers him, though, and he decides to go with it. ''Yesterday,'' he starts haltingly, ''you were sort of out of it.''

Derek meets his eyes and when he finally speaks up, it's not on the topic. ''Thank you. You're good with the pack.''

Stiles blinks at him, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

''You're good with them,'' repeats Derek and turns from him again.

Stiles can't tear his eyes away from the alpha. ''Thanks,'' he says, his voice thick with emotion. Just those few words from Derek make him feel incredibly valued, proud of himself. Stiles suddenly can't believe the amount of trust he gets from _Derek_. ''Thanks,'' he says again, having no idea how to convey how grateful he is.

Derek won't meet his eyes though and only nods stiffly before going upstairs.

It feels odd, their conversation cut off but Stiles is too happy about what he's heard from Derek to think about it too much.

***

''So, about Derek-'' starts Scott.

''We don't talk about Derek,'' replies Stiles immediately, his voice low and definite.

They are walking the empty corridor after the classes have finished, Stiles' mind on their Biology homework, completely unprepared for that conversation.

Scott sighs, making Stiles feel as if he is behaving like a child. ''It's okay. Really, I mean, the whole-''

''We don't talk about Derek,'' repeats Stiles, trying to sound definite and final.

''I'm just saying, there was some serious eye-fucking the other day,'' says Scott.

Stiles feels his jaw drop.

''It was like, definitely third base fantasy,'' continues Scott, unaffected.

''You – you don't know those words!'' calls Stiles, despairing. ''You're _innocent_!''

Scott doesn't grace that with a reply, just adds, ''I'm fine with that. The whole pack's fine with that.''

Stiles glances at him, ignoring the cold wave of wind as they go out.

Scott's frowning, looking like he carefully chooses his next words. ''I dunno, it just. Fits. You and Derek.''

Stiles bites his lip, unsure how to respond.

Scott stops walking, still trying to focus on something. ''I really can't tell why, it just feels like-''

''No, okay, I get it,'' says Stiles. ''Thanks,'' he adds, fiddling with the string of his hoodie. He stops that as soon as he realizes what he's doing.

Scott doesn't seem convinced, his eyebrows drawn as he tries to understand what he meant to say himself but finally, he gives up and sends Stiles a somewhat distracted smile.

***

Scott has always been more on the spontaneous side compared to Stiles' three affections: planning, organization, and focus.

Now, it's time to start one of his plans. Stiles puts a sandalwood candle (the smell has calming effects) on a green serviette (green is a color of nature, it's relaxing), right next to a chocolate cake (it triggers relaxation) and a lemon balm tea (it calms the mind). Then he turns to open up musac (the elevator music relaxes the passengers) when Scott comes in.

They share determined looks and Stiles calls his dad downstairs.

Sheriff raises eyebrows at the display but sits down, watching Stiles and Scott.

They sit down as well and Stiles takes a breath. ''So,'' he starts and pauses, because that's one thing he couldn't prepare. He has no idea what to actually say. He bites his lip and decides to start with something more or less innocent. ''You know how I like going to the preserve,'' he says.

''Really?'' asks Scott, surprised.

Stiles shoots him a glare and can see his dad's face turning serious. He licks his lips. ''Dad,'' he tries, ''you remember how I won that one lacrosse game?'' he asks and when his dad nods, he realizes he can't go with this one either. It was after the pool thing with Derek and before the kidnapping, and both are too much to deal with for an intro.

He lets out a soft breath and rolls up his sleeves, then pushes them back down. ''Actually, let's start with the prom night-'' he cuts himself off, realizing he'd have to mention zombie Peter, yay. ''No, actually,'' he pauses, staring at his plate and frowning in concentration, ''you've heard about the Hale fire, right?''

Both his dad and Scott stare at him, completely baffled. Stiles gives up and sighs, propping his head on his hand, then shoots Scott a pleading look.

Scott nods, determined, and turns to the sheriff. ''I'm a werewolf,'' says Scott and then wolfs out.

***

Bits of magic can are everywhere. Sometimes Stiles feels them, just behind what can be seen. All the same, there are spells that can strip everything out of magic.

A week after the werewolf reveal to his dad, Stiles spends the whole day elbows deep in cat's claw and platycodon, preparing it as they will be fighting with some magic users. He crumbles the dried up leaves and having boiled some water, waits for the herbs to simmer. He mixes them for a longer while, chanting, growing bored.

''Mages?'' asks Scott, on the phone with Deaton. Suddenly his eyes widen in amazement, and he repeats, his voice full of reverence, ''A group of _witchers_?''

Stiles freezes, listening to their talk, and in the next second, he's taking the phone from Scott.

''A group of witchers?'' he repeats after Scott. ''Like – like me?''

''Somewhat,'' replies Deaton after a moment.

''Somewhat?'' Stiles frowns. ''What does that-'' he cuts himself off, remembering he's talking with Deaton. ''Yeah, I'm not giving you this pleasure, talk with Scott.''

***

 _They are so cool_ , Stiles can't help thinking, feeling like a fanboy already. Their leader, the blond guy, resembles Draco Malfoy.

''It's Little Hogwarts,'' he says to Scott, awed, his gaze never leaving the group of witchers. The preserve feels magical as well, the green around them bright right after the rain.

Draco realizes Stiles is staring and smirks at him, then makes a swift gesture with his hand and suddenly, they can see a snake, made up of green light, hissing at them.

''So cool,'' breathes Stiles.

''What's wrong with you?'' asks Jackson, frowning at him. ''It's just a cheap trick.''

''I don't care,'' Stiles shakes his head. ''It's so amazing.'' He looks at Draco, narrowing his eyes. ''Are you guys recruiting?''

''Stiles!'' calls Scott, incredulous.

''I'm just curious,'' says Stiles with a small shrug, glancing at him and back at Draco.

Draco's smirk grows. ''How about you show us what you can do?''

Stiles draws in his eyebrows. ''How about you tell us what you're doing here?''

Draco doesn't seem pleased but says, ''We want to take over this territory.''

''Why ours?''

''For the Nemeton and its power, of course.''

''And its power, huh?'' repeats Stiles. ''So, what's your goal? World domination?''

Draco smiles, pleased with himself. Stiles stops liking him. ''Maybe,'' he allows.

Stiles smiles as well, letting him believe he shares the sentiment, the sentiment of being interested in world domination, _who'd say no to the prospect_.

He straightens and that's the moment the wolves attack, deciding the discussion's over. The group, distracted, still reacts fast enough to put up some spells, but Stiles throws his cat's claw mixed with platycodon, now ready, chanting, and it's the coolest thing ever when it lightens up mid-throw, blasting with a yellowish light. Derek's one of the closest to the group and Stiles sees how close he's to Draco. His attention immediately turns to Derek, tensing with worry-

suddenly the light grows even bigger, almost blinding him. Just like that, the other spells are useless.

Witchers are now each rendered immobile with werewolves keeping them in place.

''Wow, kid, with this power you can join anyone, anywhere,'' mutters Draco, staring at the yellowish glint.

''It's not him,'' one of the dark haired guys says. ''It's a pack of werewolves, remember? His _alpha_ ,'' he says with emphasis.

Draco glances at Derek, who's keeping his claws on his neck, then snaps his gaze to Stiles.

''You're gay,'' Draco says, shocked.

''Uh,'' Stiles looks at him dumbly, ''what?''

''You disgusting-'' he cuts himself off as Derek's claws deepen into his neck.

Stiles gapes at him. ''You're a homophobe,'' he says, his voice flat. ''You're a witcher and a homophobe,'' he repeats, his shoulders slumping. ''And you look like Draco Malfoy. Like, dude, haven't you heard of Drarry?''

''Don't talk to me, you f-'' he grimaces, again feeling Derek's claws and spits on the side, then glares at Derek. ''I admit your right to the territory,'' he says unwillingly, and the group is let free, slowly disappearing into the preserve.

''He was a witcher and a homophobe,'' repeats Stiles to Scott, stunned.

''I know, buddy,'' says Scott and claps his back.

Suddenly, Stiles feels exhausted. He can't walk back to Derek's loft on his own, leaning heavily on Scott, but finally, they get there.

He's on the coach, boneless, focused on his breathing, as they all watch One Punch Man.

''Seriously, though,'' says Scott. ''You were amazing. I don't know what we'll do without you.''

Derek snaps his head to Stiles. ''You want to leave?''

''Why, do I need the alpha's permission?'' asks Stiles, suddenly angry.

There's a flash of surprised hurt on Derek's face before it settles on his usual blank nothingness. Stiles looks at him with wide eyes, then turns away, can't believe he's just hurt Derek.

''Sorry,'' he says in a quieter voice and groans. ''God, my head's killing me.''

''Maybe you should get home,'' suggests Scott, worried.

Stiles nods and slowly gets up, heading to the corridor to wait for Scott. On his way, he glances at Derek, hoping he'll take a cue.

He does, appearing in the corridor after a while.

''Hey,'' says Stiles dumbly, then licks his lips. ''Sorry.''

''It's fine,'' says Derek with a little shake of his head.

They stand in silence for a while before Derek asks again, ''You really plan on leaving Beacon Hills?''

''I was,'' admits Stiles. ''I'm not sure anymore.''

Derek looks up at him, his eyes hopeful. He's the most beautiful Stiles has ever seen him – he's a controlling fucking alpha, Stiles won't get -

Stiles closes his eyes, grimacing. His head feels like it's splitting in two.

Derek steps in without a word and takes his pain, putting his fingers on Stiles' temple.

''Thanks,'' says Stiles, relaxing.

''Thank you for today,'' replies Derek softly. Stiles smiles at him a bit and Derek holds his gaze for a while. It feels good, nice and safe – and this is fucking Derek _what the fuck is he doing_ -

Stiles closes his eyes against the mess in his mind. Derek slowly takes back his hand, his fingers lingering a bit and Stiles looks up at him, his lips parting – this is wrong it can't be happening with _Derek_ -

''We will be training tomorrow,'' says Derek suddenly.

Scott appears in the corridor and Stiles glances at him, then back at Derek. ''Yeah?''

''We'll come, both of us,'' states Scott. ''Does that make us a pack?'' he asks with the trace of sarcasm picked up from Stiles but only kept for Derek.

''Does it?''

Scott falters. Startled, he looks up at Derek's unreadable expression. ''I-'' he starts and draws in his eyebrows. ''I don't get you,'' he says, frowning.

Stiles huffs out a laugh at that, then glances up.

Derek isn't smiling.

Why did he laugh? It wasn't funny. It obviously wasn't-

His hand flies up to his forehead. ''Shit,'' he mutters. ''I need to go.''

Derek nods and retreats to the rest of the pack. For a second, Stiles regrets that he won't stay to watch them go, then shakes his head, unable to tell why he feels this confused and uneasy.

***

Stiles is also too tired to understand what the light in the living room actually means. He opens the doors without thinking, closes them, and heads to the kitchen.

He freezes, seeing his dad watching him, standing in the corridor.

''Heyyy,'' drawls Stiles. ''I'm just going to sleep.''

His dad's expression doesn't change. ''Stiles-''

''It wasn't anything – okay? We didn't even fight!'' Stiles explodes.

''You said you'll tell me whenever something happens.''

''There was no time,'' argues Stiles and grimaces, knowing it's not quite true.

''That's why you left the classes?''

''Oh, believe me, it's better that we did,'' replies Stiles with a cheerless chuckle.

His dad goes silent. Stiles can't look at him and stares at the direction of the kitchen instead, his jaw tense and hands in fists.

''What happened?'' the sheriff asks, the last attempt to get some information.

''Nothing,'' answers Stiles immediately and huffs out, impatient. ''There were witchers – I just overused my magic, okay, I need to rest and I'm good, it was nothing.''

Stiles really can't take any more of his dad's silences and leaves to the kitchen, he needs to drink some water and check the wards, and there's a pop quiz at History tomorrow, he should remind Scott of it-

he can hear his dad climbing the stairs to his bedroom and closing the doors.

That's what he wanted.

That's what he wanted, to be left alone, in peace.

He blinks back the sudden tears.

***

Another week, another problem, that's not what one should think of life.

''Her wounds aren't healing,'' says Scott, watching Erica's slashed arms and grimaces at the prospect. ''Dere-''

''Boyd, can you do this? I need Derek to help me,'' interrupts Stiles.

The pack looks at him, surprised, but Boyd nods. Derek stays for a bit longer, watching as Boyd breaks Erica's hand, then relaxes minimally, seeing the skin around the wound slowly knitting itself back again.

He glances at Stiles and follows him to the other room.

''Can you divide the leaves and the flowers?'' asks Stiles, pointing at the sea buckthorn.

Derek nods and starts working, putting parts of the plant in the respective bowls. After a few minutes, he frowns and looks at Stiles. ''You needed me here,'' he says.

''Yeah, we'll have to let the leaves dry up later, then get the fruit juice and oil to mix with water germander,'' replies Stiles.

Derek keeps frowning. Stiles involuntarily thinks how weird it felt when Derek was doing just that, freezing in place and keeping the gaze, completely still, and how now it's another part of him. Stiles has simply gotten used to this.

Now, reluctant to address Derek's unspoken question, he wills himself to raise his eyebrows instead of asking what's the matter.

''Why did you ask me to help you?''

Stiles can't help making a face, shifting his weight. ''Okay, so maybe not my call? But you were about to break Erica's arm and every time you kick in the healing like that, you have this expression, and you're all tense. So I thought,'' Stiles pauses and shrugs, his gaze on the flowers. ''Besides, they should learn how to do this stuff themselves anyway, you know, just in case.''

Derek turns to the pile of lavender and starts working again. Stiles will have to find the right jars for all this stuff, he doesn't have enough. Actually, he'll need to buy some more, maybe try burning the stems as well and use the ashes for-

''Thanks,'' says Derek finally, his voice quiet.

Stiles beams at him.

***

A few days later they are watching Neon Genesis Evangelion, Pen Pen's backstory. Stiles is kind of awed that _everyone in this anime is suffering, even a freaking penguin_ , when suddenly the screen goes blank. They look at Erica, startled, who grips the remote tightly and gives them an awkward shrug.

''This is dumb,'' she states.

'' _Thank you_ ,'' says Isaac emphatically. ''I told you this anime sucks. It's so boring and makes no sense-''

The pack dissolves into a discussion and Stiles sighs, moving closer to the left to get the remote from Erica and change the anime to Cowboy Bebop since everyone loves it. Erica puts the remote on the table and now takes her hand back – it's shaking. Her head is buried in Boyd's chest, Boyd running his fingers down her arm soothingly.

Stiles turns to Derek and asks him quietly, more just to say something than expecting an answer, ''Do you know any calm, good anime that Isaac hasn't watched?''

He waits for Derek to give him a flat or disbelieving look at such a question, or a simple _no_ , but he stands up and leaves instead. In a while, he comes back, swiftly slipping into Stiles' hands a Mushishi CD.

Which really turns out to be calm, good and not known by the pack.

He can't help glancing at Derek throughout the episode.

***

But even paying this much attention to Derek, caring for his opinions, thinking of him, Stiles didn't realize there was a change. Whenever he thinks of that later, the memories make him either furious or resigned.

It's started innocently, he didn't think anything of it at first. He couldn't pretend any longer when they had a pack night and everyone's left, except for Stiles who felt bad for leaving Derek with the mess.

''This pack's horrible,'' he said then, collecting the dirty glasses. He went to the kitchen and sighed, putting them in the sink, ''I'm such a good person.''

Derek's lips curled a bit in response and Stiles – well, he thought it was because of the whole evening, the atmosphere – felt way too happy about that.

Obviously, he was wrong.

Maybe he'd realize if he had fucking time to think back then.

***

A week later, Stiles doesn't run for his life but drives to his death.

After the frantic call from Scott, it feels like he's too late. A quick glance around the clearing tells him it's okay – well, at least no one's dead – but he hurries out of his Jeep and spreads out all the ingredients on the car's hood. Jesus, his hands are shaking from all the adrenaline. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. He doesn't have his baseball bat strengthened with all the spells and herbs yet, it's not ready, if the magic fails him now he's fucked. Just – the spell, shit, he really hopes it'll work since he couldn't find anything specific on werejaguars, what the actual fuck, werejaguars – okay, here's cat's claw, he needs to mix it with wolfsbane and platycodon-

his hand moves too fast and some of the tulasi falls to the ground. All the grass and plants around die instantly.

God. How many times did he touch it with his bare hands yet nothing happened-

this is fucked up, stop thinking, just the spell -

he closes his eyes and takes a breath, then burns the herbs.

The words start falling from his mouth. His eyes remain closed – he can't afford any distractions now, he'd rather not test what would happen if he changed something in the spell.

When he's finished chanting he slowly opens his eyes. The werejaguars are dead, thank fuck. He shouldn't be relieved at death but they tried to _attack his pack_.

Something's wrong. Everyone is staring at him, so he looks right back, frowning.

''Derek?'' he starts, confused.

''Stiles, you-'' begins Scott.

''Stop it,'' Derek cuts him off. He turns to Stiles. ''You're going back home. Try to find something more on werejaguars. We meet tomorrow.''

Stiles' frown deepens as he feels even more confused. ''But – don't you need help with the wounds and-''

''You're going back to your house,'' repeats Derek. Stiles realizes he is angry – his mouth thin, his hands in fists.

Jesus, something must have gone seriously wrong with his spell. He takes a breath, his eyes widening. He rolls up the sleeves of his red hoodie. ''Derek, what have I-''

''Boyd, take him.''

Boyd glances at Derek – Stiles can never tell what Boyd's thinking – but walks to Stiles and takes him to his Jeep. Stiles doesn't really try to oppose – all of a sudden, he feels exhausted. He was in such a hurry, yet it looks like the werewolves handled the situation. It's really about the strength in the end. He can't tell if he helped at least a bit or fucked up.

''Lydia, you'll take Jackson and go back home as well. Upload the bestiary and add the details on this case. Allison, tell Chris what happened.'' Derek pauses and closes his eyes. For a second, he seems just tired and vulnerable. Stiles takes an involuntary step closer to him but Boyd keeps him in place, gripping his arm.

''We meet tomorrow,'' repeats Derek.

Stiles' eyebrows draw together and he is about to ask what should they talk about, but Boyd moves him to get inside the car.

***

He doesn't really sleep that night, too distressed with the pack's, Derek's odd behavior. As he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling, he realizes he doesn't feel the usual exhaustion from performing such a powerful spell. He's tired like any other day, instead of bone-deep weariness he usually feels after using a lot of magic.

 _That's so messed up_ , thinks Stiles, blinking slowly, _but I'm sort of used to being drained_.

***

The next day, when he comes into Derek's loft, everyone else is already there. Derek immediately looks at Stiles, his eyes narrowing with anger. ''Do you have any idea what you've-''

''He doesn't,'' interrupts Lydia. ''He was doing it subconsciously. You know that.''

Derek doesn't answer and grimaces, tightening his fists as he turns away.

''Stiles,'' Lydia starts.

Stiles looks at her, still standing stupidly in the corridor. He's never seen Derek this angry, almost vibrating with emotion, not even when they kept fighting, at the beginning.

''There are some things I need to ask you and I want you to say if you've done them to Derek,'' states Lydia, watching him carefully.

Stiles frowns at her. ''Okay?''

''Providing.''

Stiles stares at her and after a beat starts laughing, incredulous.

Lydia narrows her eyes, unamused. ''Did you give Derek food, clothes, or-''

''Of course I did,'' he cuts her off and huffs out a laugh, shaking his head a little, unsure what's going on. ''We've been friends for a while now.''

''And you gave those things specifically to Derek? Think about it.''

''Well, yes,'' he says, keeping his gaze on her. ''I remember giving him chocolate cookies, Isaac can confirm that, I gave him some of my t-shirt after the fight with the werecoyotes to use for his cuts. I cook sometimes,'' he counts.

Lydia tightens her lips and nods. Stiles looks at the others, trying to get some information, but no one will meet his gaze. Even Scott is staring at the floor, his eyes wide open.

Jackson raises his hand. ''Can I go home?'' he asks.

''No,'' answers Lydia coldly. ''It concerns the whole pack.''

''What _it_?'' cuts in Stiles, frowning.

Lydia hesitates, looking at him, when Derek says, ''Just answer the questions.''

Stiles keeps silent and meets his gaze. A few seconds pass and finally Derek relents, looking away. ''Please,'' he adds.

Stiles rolls his shoulders, aware of the tension, but nods, unwilling.

''Have you slept together?'' asks Lydia bluntly.

Stiles reels back like he's been slapped. Stunned, he can't even respond at first. ''No,'' he chokes out finally. ''We- _no_ ,'' he repeats with emphasis.

Lydia nods, something in her posture relaxing. She seems to be preparing the next question but before she can open her mouth, Stiles adds, ''Uh, we fell asleep once during Neon Genesis Evangelion.''

He manages to keep himself from glancing at Derek, doesn't dare to.

''That's because this anime is so boring-'' starts Isaac.

''Not the time,'' Lydia cuts him off. ''Feeling the need to touch Derek?''

''What?'' Stiles laughs a bit too late, waiting for the rest to join in. They don't. ''Of course not,'' he says, incredulous, and freezes.

It was a lie.

There is a flash of compassion on Lydia's face and that's what freaks him out the most.

''What's going on?'' he asks, feeling his heart speed up. He licks his lips and fiddles with the strings of his hoodie.

Lydia looks at his hands and he stops moving, dread rising in his guts. ''You've been wearing this hoodie a lot recently,'' she notices. ''Why?''

He frowns at the question and shrugs. ''I just felt like it,'' he says, defensive.

''Do you have any other red clothes?''

He dumbly looks at the hoodie. ''I don't think so,'' he replies, somehow already not liking where that answer may lead.

''Did you have an urge to improve Derek's look? Iron his shirt or style his hair?''

Stiles doesn't respond, but his flush is enough of an answer.

''Iron his shirt?'' asks Jackson, staring at Stiles with raised eyebrows.

''Not- fuck off,'' he replies through gritted teeth. He can't meet Derek's gaze, so embarrassed it feels humiliating.

Lydia watches Stiles for a while, frowning slightly. ''When did it start?'' she asks suddenly. ''I still remember how much you fought with Derek.''

Stiles glances at her, startled. ''Well, I-'' he starts and cuts himself off. It's not because he understood Derek better – that only happened after Stiles kept noticing him, and he's noticed Derek because-

oh. Because Derek is so good-looking.

 _Well_ , thinks Stiles, _that's shallow_. And it was so unexpected – the way he suddenly just saw Derek, his green eyes and full arms – it was so _sudden_. He's seen Derek earlier, he did notice how handsome he is but then, at Deaton's, when Derek entered-

''Fuck,'' Stiles breathes, his hand flying up to his forehead. He grimaces in pain and at once, Derek is at his side, taking his pain.

Stiles sighs, resting against Derek's hand on his neck. It feels so much better. ''Thanks,'' he says.

He can't help thinking how everything feels better with Derek close.

Lydia watches them, her expression unreadable. ''We're going to Deaton,'' she states, her tone not letting in any doubts.

On the way there, Derek is next to Stiles, their shoulders touching. Derek won't look at him, though, clenching his fists and relaxing them until Stiles lays his fingers on top of them. Derek straightens and stops moving, not looking at him.

Someone must have called Deaton when they were on their way because the vet is already preparing something.

Stiles drinks half of the liquid once it's ready and has to take a break, grimacing at the taste. ''How much cat's claw and platycodon have you added?'' he asks Deaton, incredulous.

Deaton doesn't reply so Stiles just rolls his eyes and drinks the rest.

''Mr. Stilinski,'' starts Deaton and Stiles looks up at him with wide eyes at the title, ''I need permission to read your aura.''

''My aura,'' repeats Stiles and glances at the pack just to check if anyone's laughing. No one does, although Jackson still or again, it's hard to tell with him, has his eyebrows raised. Isaac and Erica are trying to keep straight faces but they are nowhere Deaton or Boyd's level, and Scott squints at Stiles, probably trying to read his aura as well.

''Yeah, sure, go ahead,'' says Stiles finally, having no idea what to expect.

Deaton doesn't do anything, just stands before Stiles and looks at him. Stiles gazes back questioningly but Deaton doesn't seem to notice. Waiting, Stiles starts swinging his legs back and forth.

Then, the vet exchanges grim looks with Lydia, glances at Derek, standing right behind Stiles and turns around to his desk, preparing another herbal mixture.

''There's magic present in your aura,'' says Deaton.

Stiles freezes. ''You mean-''

''Someone has used magic to alter your mind.''

Stiles keeps watching Deaton, shocked. ''Someone fucked with my mind,'' he says, his voice strained. Derek moves closer to him, a steady source of warmth on his back and he presses into it. ''So what do I...'' he starts, shaking his head.

''You have two options. The faster one will work immediately but it's not as safe as-''

''The faster one,'' decides Stiles at once.

Derek puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder. ''If it's dangerous, maybe it'd be better for you-''

''It's better for me to know the truth,'' Stiles cuts him off decisively. He shivers and groans again at a sudden headache. Derek moves his hand onto Stiles' nape. The relief is almost overwhelming.

Deaton finishes preparing another liquid and gives it to Stiles, glancing at Derek again, his face blank.

Stiles drinks from the offered glass. The taste is horrible, of course, but he needs to finish this – whatever this was-

Oh, _fuck_.

Oh, god, no.

He stares at the glass, completely motionless, realizes that the pack is looking at him and Derek is still-

He takes a breath and grips the table he's sitting on to reel in the emotions.

''Derek,'' he starts, careful to keep his voice even – _he doesn't know he doesn't know_ , ''move away from me.''

''What?'' asks Derek, too surprised to react at once.

The whole pack and Deaton is watching Stiles as he remembers Derek's smile, his hopeful gaze-

''Stop _fucking_ touching me,'' hisses Stiles, his whole body tense.

Derek takes a few steps back, startled.

Stiles forcefully breathes in again, his eyes on the floor now. ''It was the witch,'' he says quietly. ''She wanted to strengthen our pack so that we'll keep the territory and make it peaceful again.'' He pauses, disbelieving that he almost sacrificed everything – his whole future life, his personal happiness, his teenage years and relationship with dad – _for fucking Beacon Hills_. ''She wanted to do that by turning me into Derek's mate,'' he finishes and can't quite stop a short, incredulous laugh. ''I can't fucking believe that,'' he says, ignoring the heavy silence. ''I was mind-screwed,'' he states. His voice is still quiet, almost calm, but he knows he wouldn't be able to stop himself from killing any creature if one were to appear before him now. ''I don't even _like_ Derek.''

''Stiles,'' speaks up Scott in the silence, looking at him apologetically as he shifts in his chair, ''are you-''

Lydia catches Scott's gaze and interrupts him with, ''I don't think we should-''

''It's because you are my mate,'' says Derek softly. Again, there is a sudden silence, so deep Stiles can hear his heart beating. ''I've known ever since I met you, I was just – waiting,'' he says, his eyes on the floor.

Stiles turns to stare at him. '' _What?_ ''

Derek flinches.

Stiles rolls up his sleeves and messes his hair, deems it not enough and stands up to pace around the examination table. ''How would you even know that?'' he asks, realizing he's angry. He looks away from Derek, can't bear to take in how weak, vulnerable he seems.

''I just know,'' replies Derek quietly, still not looking at him.

'' _Bullshit_ ,'' replies Stiles immediately, flitting his eyes to him. '' _How_ do you _just know?_ ''

Derek doesn't reply at first, head kept low, shoulders tense, body completely still. ''It's your scent,'' he says finally, his voice so quiet Stiles barely hears the answer.

''That sounds like love at first sight crap.''

''It's not crap,'' frowns Scott, interrupting their discussion.

''Maybe,'' says Stiles roughly, ''but this mates thing _is_.''

''The concept of mates is actually quite well known in the supernatural world,'' Deaton supplies. ''Mates are a rare occurrence but can considerably strengthen the pack. The partners usually recognize themselves simply by seeing the other, hearing their voice or taking in their smell.'' Deaton pauses and glances at Stiles. ''Being mated to human is not common, but I know of such cases. If you want to, I can lend you some information on them.''

Stiles narrows his eyes at Deaton's sudden offer of help, then he looks at Derek.

''It felt right,'' Erica speaks up, ''when you were with Derek.''

The rest of the pack nods at the words.

''Scott!'' exclaims Stiles, seeing as his best friend agrees with Erica.

''It's true,'' he replies with a helpless shrug, glancing at him apologetically.

Stiles takes a step back, looking at all of them. ''Oh,'' he says. ''I guess I understand what this is about. Mates can strengthen the pack, huh?'' He starts pacing again, unable to deal with all the anger. ''It's so convenient that Derek and I just _happen_ to be mates.''

''Stiles,'' Erica cuts in as Isaac shakes his head, staring at him, ''that's not-''

''Save it,'' he interrupts her harshly. ''I won't ever be with Derek.''

Derek doesn't move from his place next to Deaton's desk, a contrast to Stiles' nervous pacing. He narrows his eyes and grips his hands tightly as they are crossed on his chest. ''I'd never _choose_ to be with you either,'' he says coldly.

Stiles scoffs, doesn't even look at him. He sees Erica closing her eyes and turning to Boyd, Lydia sighing softly, the rest of the wolves looking away. Scott, however, snaps his head to Derek, cringing.

 _What the fuck_ , passes through Stiles' mind, _he was lying_.

His head is full of frenzied thoughts. He can't quite make sense of them, too many things fighting for attention. This is absurd. It can't be possible that he completely changed his feelings about someone so suddenly, with a snap of his fingers.

Stiles looks at Derek, his tense posture, his eyes not leaving Stiles for a second. Derek is obviously handsome but Stiles can't find in himself any real attraction. He remembers suddenly the day he had brought Derek cookies, _he's really done that, didn't he, fucking unbelievable_. It had been such a nice day, though. Stiles made them dinner later on, some kind of a quick thing, and asked, ''Do werewolves eat more than normal humans? Because Scott sometimes devours his food like Goku after a fight.''

Derek had let out a surprised laugh at that.

Stiles had found himself watching the man, he hadn't expected such reaction but had smiled, subconsciously mirroring the emotion.

''Laura liked watching anime,'' Derek had explained. ''We've used to watch Dragon Ball together.''

Stiles had grinned at him, almost overwhelmed with happiness. ''Did you try the Kamehameha attack?''

Derek had tried to give him a flat look but all Stiles could notice was his soft smile.

He doesn't want to see it now. That Derek was like a different person – but that must be Stiles' mind, changing the way he perceived Derek, making him fall in love with him. That's why he _could_ fall in love with Derek at all, Stiles realizes, because he didn't really know him.

Now, though, in Deaton's office, the only things connecting Stiles to Derek are the pack and the supernatural. He cannot find anything more. He doesn't even want to – Derek isn't the best alpha, far from it. He is weird and can be an asshole.

''So what do you want to do now?'' asks Derek, lifting his gaze, his mouth in a thin line. He's changed his strategy and now is masking his hurt with anger, realizes Stiles.

He takes a moment to think it over, not bothering to rise to the bait. ''I'll stick until we defeat the alpha pack, and then I'll leave,'' he replies with a shrug.

There is an almost unnoticeable slump to Derek's shoulder, a sign that he's relieved. ''Okay,'' he says after a while.

Stiles looks at him sharply. ''It's lovely to have your permission, Derek,'' he says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

''I didn't mean-''

''Sure,'' Stiles cuts him off. ''It just slipped, you're the alpha after all.''

Derek closes his eyes while the rest of the pack stares at Stiles.

He smiles at them, anger brimming in him. ''I guess I was more pleasant when I was under mind-fuckery.''

Derek snaps his eyes to Stiles. ''That's not-''

''Yeah,'' drawls Stiles, not listening. ''It's not like I'm gonna believe you.''

Derek turns away and leaves, which honestly is for the better of everyone.

''Well,'' Stiles smiles cheerfully, ''now there's just the alpha pack, the witch, and Derek's Issues Multiplied,'' he says. He can't take in any more stares from the pack and drops his head. He realizes he still has the glass Deaton gave him and puts it on the examination table, the sudden sound making Erica flinch.

He snaps his head away and goes out. Derek's thankfully gone already.

 

***

Stiles can still feel his magic so he doesn't care. They'll go through it, they've been through worse. _Derek_ will go through it.

 _It's fine_ , thinks Stiles, mixing summer snowflake with platycodon. He's busy preparing the right mix of herbs against the kind of magic he was subjected to, needs to burn tulasi and it's ready. He has more pressing things to consider.

His magic feels weak and subdued but _it's there_. He chants, willing it to grow, and waits for the flame to come.

There is nothing. He can feel the ends of his fingers getting warmer and there's a bit of smoke, so he tries the spell again, and again, and suddenly remembers that he's used to just get the lighter for this part, earlier. Lately, he started using magic because it was faster.

Stiles repeats the spell and finally, a small flame appears, burning the plants. He pours the ashes to the new jar, puts it on one of the shelves, then rests his hands on the table.

His elbows are shaking. Stiles breathes deeply and brushes away some hair from his forehead. He realizes he's sweating from the effort when it was just one spell.

He closes his eyes.

Jesus, no. _Please_.

Stiles knows he was weaker, earlier, but this is – this is just sad. Pathetic. He's barely burnt a handful of dried up leaves and he's trembling.

He sits down on the floor, thinking it over. He couldn't be _that_ weak – and he wasn't, but somehow, now, he is, and-

of course. His magic is dependent on the pack as well, and when the pack's atmosphere is as lovely as it is now, no wonder his magic is suffering as well, for fuck's sake.

***

On Monday, Stiles wakes up at 5:04 am, not because he's decided for once to sacrifice his sleeping hours to prepare for school (there's a math test) or make something nice for breakfast (he really should think of something for his dad). Like pancakes, pancakes sound awesome – but no, he has to wake up because they have another supernatural crisis.

He lets himself enjoy the bed's comfort and warmth for 3 more seconds, then gets up.

Stiles takes his bat, now reinforced with magic. On his way to the preserve, he makes a mental list of all the spells he knows that may be useful, regardless of how elves actually fight-

which they don't. Stiles sees Derek's posture and relaxes, surprised, realizing that the elves are negotiating.

Yeah, negotiating. He's putting this shit on his CV, just watch him.

Seriously, the elves are now Stiles' favorite supernatural beings, fuck homophobic witchers, vampires that never email back, and mating-oriented werewolves.

***

The elves were okay and the next day, Stiles goes to the library, borrowing a book about negotiating. Is it a coincidence? No. It's a _positive reinforcement_.

Going back home, he realizes he didn't tell his dad about the elves. It wasn't a conscious decision, he simply didn't think of it. Stiles doesn't have a habit of telling his dad stuff. He did promise him to be more open, though, maybe he should show him Lydia's uploaded bestiary.

But honestly, he thinks so much about it when the elves situation wasn't anything serious. On the other hand, knowing how bad the situation is and telling his dad about it, leading him there-

Stiles closes the front door behind him. He has a free afternoon and will write an essay for English.

***

That night, he can't sleep. It's not because of the stress, or the nightmares, or his thoughts and memories – which should be the reasons. Now, he just can't sleep because sometimes people can't sleep.

Stiles sighs and sits up on the bed, wondering if he should try learning some more chemistry for tomorrow's quiz but he decides he feels too tired. He lays back down.

It's weird how well they take everything that's been happening. Sure, they are tired, but it's normal tired. They don't get too much sleep, but they do sleep. They still cope with school and supernatural and it is exhausting, but they are still mostly fine. No one's sick. No one's crazy. No one's _dead_ , and that's good enough.

Stiles frowns, watching his ceiling. Honestly, with the stuff that has been happening, at the very least they should struggle with recurring nightmares, depression, flashbacks, the whole PTSD shit, yet they are fine.

He wonders how the fuck he's never thought of that before.

He wonders if he should wonder about that.

Slowly, he lets out his breath and closes his eyes. Should he ask Deaton about it? He has an urge to call Deaton right now just to bother him but decides that as soon as Deaton realizes it's not a life or death matter, he'll be deliberately vague and whatever he says will resemble more Chinese-cookie-fortune-telling than an actual reply.

The mating, though. It can be connected, right? Because it strengthens the pack, doesn't it? So could it influence the mental or psychological bond, or however you call all that?

What happens when he leaves for college?

No, he won't let himself think that far. He's already decided to leave Beacon Hills and he fucking will. Fuck werewolves and the supernatural. He's never wanted to be part of this world. He has the right to choose to live normally.

Stiles gets up to learn some chemistry, his mouth tightening. He falls asleep two hours later.

***

Wyverns are code Beyond Black, apparently.

Stiles is laying on the ground, motionless, watching the blood as it's slowly trickling, creating a small, deep-red stream. He waits for it to reach the stone nearby, but it's too thick to get there.

 _It's annoying_ , he decides, wondering if he should just move the stone, but that's cheating. He considers creating a hole in the ground so that the blood can reach the stone but he can't quite find his hand.

Stiles sighs deeply. He feels so tired.

 _I'm probably dying_ , he thinks, staring at all the blood before him. Derek will be sad.

Fuck Derek. He won't think about him now, as the last thing before Stiles' death, no fucking way.

Wow, he is actually dying. Shouldn't he call someone, or something... Thinking takes so much energy.

Time passes. His blood still won't reach the stone. Stiles closes his eyes, steadily feeling colder against the April's warmth.

The pack will be left to struggle with Beacon Hills. But will anything really change when he is so weak?

Maybe he should have agreed to be with Derek, they would be so much stronger, he saw it, it would be just Derek-

no. Fuck, no, he can't believe he is even thinking about it. He's sacrificed his normal life for the pack, for Beacon Hills, he won't sacrifice his chance for happiness as well. That's fucked up. Everyone else has someone, Derek _believes_ he has someone, and Stiles won't just give his life away.

His vision is getting hazy. Does he need glasses? He fails to chuckle.

 _God, my dad_. He still has a copy of the bestiary so at the very least the sheriff should be able to deal with the monsters they've encountered so far. He'll know that wendigos only eat human flesh so they need to be killed on sight.

But if Stiles dies, his dad will be left with his job, Melissa, and Scott, and-

and-

that's all. There is nothing more.

 _He needs a hobby_ , thinks Stiles, closing his eyes again, feeling heavy everywhere. _Like, like a bonsai tree, to water and form and look after._

_Fuck, I don't want to die._

He blacks out.

***

Stiles wakes up in Derek's loft. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly, and catches a movement nearby. It's Derek, walking away and calling, ''Melissa? Stiles' awake.''

Stiles closes his eyes, partly to be contrary and partly because he's still tired, and falls back asleep.

***

When he comes back to consciousness again it's dark, and again Derek leaves without a word. Instead, Scott appears soon afterward and Stiles sits up, groggily looking around.

Scott brings him Boyd's soup and talks how Lydia has saved them all, having prepared a spell for crisis situations to give her a power boost – and, in turn, she'll suffer complete weakening for the next two weeks. Stiles listens, staring at Boyd's soup, eating Boyd's soup, because _Boyd has made a soup_.

Scott tells him of the aftermath and the calm before the storm, the alphas arrive in four days. They're fucked, they're so fucked.

''But at least the wyverns are finished,'' he says with a faint smile, trying to brighten the picture of doom. Stiles feels like he's in Neon Genesis Evangelion, _everyone's suffering_. ''Your dad has really helped with the bodies and the traces.'' Scott pauses and smiles suddenly, glancing at him. ''He has drilled Derek on everything. Everything, seriously, from the _so Stiles has a room here, huh_ , through _vampires have claws as well, fascinating_ , to _you're a fan of those... Chinese... cartoons?_ '' Scott grins and Stiles smiles back, finishing his soup. Then he lays down again, already feeling exhausted.

Scott watches him, his expression turning serious and worried. ''Derek's been right beside you,'' he says quietly, his gaze piercing Stiles. ''He drained your pain, and then just – just kept watching over you, you know?''

Stiles turns away and falls asleep.

***

His dad crumbles before him, hugging him so tightly it's hard to breathe. ''Jesus, Stiles,'' he says with feeling, his arms gripping Stiles' back.

Stiles apologizes over and over again.

***

He wakes up in the middle of the night, drinks a bit of tea from a thermos he finds close. Derek is pretending to sleep, sitting nearby, leaning against the wall.

They have three more days until the alphas come. It's the evening of the first day when Stiles manages to take a shower and feels strong enough to check his herbs, see what's missing and what he has in big enough quantities to plan the spells.

***

Two more days. Stiles goes as far as eating half of a slice of bread apart from Boyd's soup, a new one, _still good wth._ He's having a serious talk with Boyd after all of this. In the evening, having slept almost through the whole day, he feels better and takes a shower, looks at his herbs and goes to the kitchen to eat supper.

He manages to prepare himself some tea and a sandwich, puts the plate on the table and flops on the chair. Propping his elbows on the table, he buries his face in his hands, already exhausted from those simple actions.

He hears someone coming in and groans. ''Oh my god, Derek, you're such a creep, you know that?''

''It's Isaac, actually, but I'm sure Derek's heard that as well.''

Stiles glares at him between his fingers, then leans back and starts eating.

Isaac sits down and Stiles gives him half of his sandwich.

''Thanks,'' says Isaac, somewhat surprised, then smiles oddly. ''Thought you were supposed to stay with us until the alphas, then leave.''

Stiles glances at him, then away, immersed in thoughts. ''Yeah,'' he agrees slowly. ''I'm – I don't know.'' Stiles frowns at his indecision and looks at Isaac. ''Weren't you supposed to leave? There's nothing for you in Beacon Hills and so on?''

Isaac shrugs, looking somewhere else. ''I guess there's something,'' he says haltingly, watching his hands.

Stiles leans in, interest piqued. ''Do I sense a love story?''

Isaac rolls his eyes. ''Only everywhere,'' he retorts drily.

''No, but seriously, this face you had right now-''

''Was my normal face,'' Isaac cuts him off decisively. ''Not talking about it.''

''But there is someth-''

''Stiles-''

''It's not me, huh,'' asks Stiles, fake disappointed.

Isaac kicks him under the table. ''I'm not making Derek jealous.''

''I don't care what you make Derek.''

Isaac doesn't reply, busing himself with his sandwich. ''I think he is an otaku,'' he says suddenly, lowering his voice. ''In his bedroom, there is this place – I think he has manga books, figurines, all this shit down there.''

Stiles raises his eyebrows.

''I'm serious,'' continues Isaac. ''I thought it was his _playroom_ , before,'' he says, keeping his gaze on Siles. ''Thought he was into BDSM. But now, I'm betting on otaku shit.''

''That's-'' starts Stiles slowly, then shakes his head. ''Completely mind-blowing, actually. Why are you telling me this?''

''See, supposing we don't die tomorrow, we could use a mattress to sleep and lie on, right?'' asks Isaac. ''And I've found a perfect one.'' He digs out his phone and shows Stiles a photo of Totoro mattress.

Stiles admires the item. ''It _is_ perfect,'' he agrees.

''I need your support to get Derek to buy it,'' says Isaac. ''I think he's kind of embarrassed about being such a nerd.''

''I'm all in,'' states Stiles.

Once he's finished eating, he bumps fists with Isaac, already thinking of tomorrow, then heads to his room and lays down, planning spells he could use.

It's enough to convince the pack that he's sleeping. Derek is probably listening in to his heartbeat, _seriously, what a creep_. He must know that Stiles is awake and stressed the fuck out but brings him a new tea without a word and leaves him alone.

''Derek,'' says Stiles quietly, ''want to hear what Sailor Moon is about?''

Derek glances at him and says, ''I already know.''

Stiles stares at him, then explains, ''It was the code for _is anyone listening in to us talking_ ,'' he replies, wondering if Derek's heard his talk with Isaac earlier.

Derek doesn't answer at first, either checking on the rest or looking at Stiles incredulously. Both are possible. ''No,'' he says finally.

''Just, for tomorrow,'' Stiles starts, still laying on his back and watching the ceiling, ''we know that the alpha pack is stronger than all of us and wants to take over Beacon Hills. Our best chance is to not let the fight get physical, get too close, but for that we need magic, and,'' he pauses, his mouth twisting, ''Lydia and I are too weak for that. So we can only try to negotiate. Try to get the best achievable deal, without a fight if possible.''

''They will want to see the whole pack. That means the pack-adjacents as well.''

Stiles frowns. ''Like Melissa?''

''And Chris Argent.''

Derek doesn't say anything more but Stiles feels like he's waiting for him to realize something.

All the air leaves Stiles' lungs with a soft whoosh. ''My dad,'' he says weakly.

''Yes.''

Stiles snaps his head to him, getting up to shift his weight on his elbows. '' _I won't let him-_ ''

''I know,'' Derek cuts him off, his eyes on the floor between them. ''Chris and Melissa won't come anyway.''

Stiles falls back on his bed again. ''Since we will all die anyway.'' He closes his eyes.

They _will_ all die anyway, but fuck, he thought he would go to Berkeley first. They have that Criminal Law  & Justice program that sounds interesting. And he never did try the recipe for steaks he's found recently. This mattress Isaac's shown him was awesome. He's never had a boyfriend, he's never had sex, he's never-

he should stop. What's the difference now?

Stiles keeps just laying there, motionless, when a thought strikes him. Why did he even talk to Derek now? He could've saved all that for the meeting they will have tomorrow before the alpha shit.

He sighs, impatient with himself. _It doesn't matter_.

''Hey,'' he says again to Derek, who's still quiet, ''how come you're acting like that?'' He grimaces at how vague he sounds and tries again. ''I mean, you make teas and you're so quiet, yet I still remember how you kept slamming me against the walls and argue with me.''

He waits for an answer, watching the ceiling and how the shades change from barely-there to grayish, growing darker in the corners.

There is no response so Stiles turns just to find Derek watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.

''It was either that or fucking you,'' he replies finally. His voice is steady and he holds Stiles' gaze.

Stiles snaps his head away, his heart thudding in his chest. He tries to lay there, calmly, but can't, Derek is still there and-

and Derek's gets up and leaves.

Stiles sighs softly, watching the ceiling with wide eyes.

***

Derek's explaining about the alpha pack, describes their plan and _Stiles can't look away from him_. The way Derek moves his hands – and his fingers – Stiles concentrates on Derek's words just to focus on his mouth, it seems soft – and _it was either that or fucking you_ -

Stiles jerks and snaps his eyes to the floor. This is the worst time to think about this stuff.

And it shouldn't feel this new. He was thinking about Derek before but it was in this weird state of mind, where he wasn't searching for the reason too hard, where he wanted Derek just to smile at him, stay nearby.

Stiles rubs his face with his hand, tired, resolving to concentrate on the face-off with the alpha pack.

***

They do stand facing each other, the pack on one side, the alphas on the other. It feels like Clausewitz's great battle but looks more like just another fight in Heroes of Might and Magic, Stiles would know.

''So this is your territory,'' says Deucalion, a white man that gives Stiles an odd impression of British colonists, while looking around. ''Beacon Hills.'' He pauses and adds, ''It's certainly pleasing, being this close to nature.'' Curiously, he doesn't sound that certain.

Kali, the only woman in the group, who's standing next to Deucalion, grimaces at the words. ''How far away is an _actual_ city?''

Stiles glances at her, surprised by the question. Scott's expression changes slightly – he loves Beacon Hills and doesn't like hearing how it's worse for being a small town. For him, that's what makes it better.

''Almost two hours drive,'' replies Derek.

Kali raises her eyebrows. ''How often do you drive there, then?''

''Rarely,'' answers Derek. His voice is so calm it sounds almost flat.

Kali eyes all of them, looking closer at Jackson. ''What about you?'' she asks.

''I used to drive there about once every two weeks,'' he replies.

 _Duh_ , thinks Stiles, _designer clothes wait for no one_.

''Huh,'' she says.

''I suppose you were quite busy these past few months,'' says Deucalion.

Stiles feels a flash of anger at the words but suppresses it quickly, not wanting to draw the attention to himself.

Derek nods. ''We had about two attacks a week.''

The alphas stare at them.

''I imagine some of them were caused by the Nemeton as well?'' asks Deucalion, his face unreadable.

''We're in a process of cleansing it,'' replies Derek.

Wow. They don't even have all the ingredients yet. It's not an outright lie, though. They _are_ gathering the necessary herbs, just... slowly.

Deucalion nods. ''You seem to care for Beacon Hills a great deal,'' he notices.

Derek's shoulders tense but in a second he forcefully relaxes. ''My family helped establish the town over 200 years ago.''

Again, Stiles feels a flash of anger. Derek shouldn't be in a position where he _needs_ to mention his family. He has the weirdest urge to touch Derek.

Crap, does the spell have some lasting effects? He wouldn't normally think that, would he?

No, he _would_ think of Derek, anyone would but – no, this is about comfort. It's normal. They are in a pack, it's normal to offer comfort-

''Well, let's get to the point,'' states Deucalion. Everyone shifts, preparing for the battle. ''Kali, will you do the honors?''

''With pleasure,'' she grins, stepping in.

Stiles creates a barrier at once but she easily slashes through with her claws. The werewolves are already in their beta forms and Derek roars, attacking. It gains Stiles enough time to hit Kali with a spell, then he immediately conjures another to strengthen Derek. Just in time, as Kali drives her claws into Derek's stomach, blood spurting. Derek slides down to his knees, hands on the wound. He groans in pain and his eyes are losing focus.

Scott and Boyd jump in next and Stiles gives them a boost as well, his head feeling dizzy from using this much magic in succession. Isaac and Jackson attack intermittently, avoiding Kali's swings. Boyd manages to immobilize her for a second with Scott's help so Jackson can slash her chest. Thanks to Lydia's spell, there is venom affecting the werewolves in them. They have no idea why the magic only works on Jackson, it may have something to do with him being the kanima before, but it doesn't matter now.

Allison shoots her wolfsbane arrow near Kali's heart, then the second one into her existing chest wound. Kali roars and frees herself, turning onto Boyd and kicking him with such strength he flies through the meadow.

Isaac slashes at her neck but the attack misses as she steps away in the last second. Scott hits her from the back but she retaliates with her elbow, then follows with her claws. Scott grunts in pain and falls to the ground, gripping his side. Kali turns her attention to Isaac and snarls. Allison hits her with another arrow, this time in her thigh.

Stiles wants to help but he's barely standing and he still needs magic for Lydia's last chance spell, calling the coven.

Jackson slashes Kali's arm but doesn't back away fast enough and the alpha lands a blow on his stomach. Jackson bends in a half, coughing up blood, but keeps standing.

Stiles takes in the whole scene. Derek is still on his knees, unmoving, Boyd sits up slowly, and Scott keeps clutching his side, his face twisted in pain. Isaac and Jackson, although hurt, keep attacking but they risk a serious injury if they get too close.

Erica steps in now as most of the others are no longer able to fight. In the morning, when they were discussing the plan, she didn't want to hear about staying back but was pressed to promise. She's always been a ferocious fighter and Kali has to focus all attention on fending off her onslaught. This allows Isaac and Jackson to strengthen their attacks, keeping the alpha occupied and Stiles sneaks closer, preparing the mountain ash.

''Now!'' he yells. Erica, Isaac, and Jackson all jump away. He throws in the herb and imprisons Kali inside the circle.

''That will be enough, thank you,'' says Deucalion.

In the silence that follows, Stiles eyes the rest of the alphas but none of them moves. Derek's injury seems to be the most serious so Stiles crouches next to him, preparing horsetail for the wound.

He can hear clapping and looks up.

''Quite entertaining,'' grades Deucalion. ''Kali, if you could-'' he gestures at her.

Kali snarls and tries to slash through the barrier once, again, and again – she breaks free. She's bleeding and breathing heavily but still standing, still able to fight. Stiles looks at his friends. They could kill her. If it was only her, they _could_.

''Fuckitty – fucktards – fucked – fucks,'' utters Stiles, feeling the adrenaline crash. His hands are shaking too much to apply the herb without spilling some. He bites his lower lip, willing himself to focus, and tastes blood.

''There's still a lot to do here,'' states Deucalion, turning to Derek. ''Inter-pack connections, the Nemeton, caring for the flow of magic, you'll need pack-adjacents.''

Derek growls at him and Deucalion grimaces, displeased. ''Some respect for your elders,'' he chides.

Derek breathes in and out before responding. ''The neighboring packs remember the Hales. As I mentioned, we're cleansing the Nemeton. We know a spark,'' he pauses, his face covered in sweat as he grimaces, ''a banshee, and a druid.'' Derek breathes heavily and clenches his fists. ''We have connections to the Beacons Hills' Sheriff's office, the hospital, and the high school.''

Stiles almost cringes at the last one.

Deucalion nods again. ''We'll leave you to it, then,'' he says, straightening.

Derek doesn't really show his confusion and surprise besides looking at the alpha with more intent, almost imperceptibly widening his eyes for a second, which Stiles doubts anyone can or cares enough to notice.

Funny that he does. Weird effects of the mind-fuckery no. 1, he understands Derek's body language.

''We hereby recognize the territory of the Beacon Hills as the rightful property of the Hale pack,'' states Deucalion. ''And do something about Nemeton,'' he adds, slightly annoyed.

''Good luck with this craphole,'' sneers Kali.

Derek narrows his eyes.

''Beacon Hills is a beautiful place,'' blurts out Scott, glaring at her.

''We'll remember it _fondly_ when in Tokyo,'' she replies with an eye-roll.

***

They come back to Derek's loft afterward, unsure what to do with themselves. It's finished. It's done. They are hurt but alive.

Isaac starts playing some stupid Japanese game with Scott and Allison, Jackson sitting with them only to criticise each one of their movements. Erica and Boyd talk quietly in the corner and Stiles searches for the closest place where he can lay down and sleep, when Lydia says, ''Hey, did you know that the exams start exactly in four weeks?''

There goes his sleep.

***

Stiles has wished many times sleep was something that he could store like chocolate or money, not that he's good at keeping them unused. But if he could at least sleep more during the holidays to use that overplus before his exams – that would be perfect.

That's what he thinks about as he emerges out of his room, frowning at the change in light and blinking away the tiredness. He steps into the kitchen and gets a glass of water which he drinks at once, puts the glass in the sink and groans at the exhaustion. His head is full of chemistry, ugh, which makes it hard to focus on anything concerning normal, everyday life.

''I need food,'' he states aloud and meets Derek's eyes as the man stands completely still with a sandwich in his hand.

''I can,'' starts Derek and suddenly turns away, ''make you something.''

''God, please,'' sighs Stiles, closing his eyes. ''Jesus, this looks great.''

He opens his eyes again and catches Derek glancing at him, his expression open-

Stiles freezes, only now realizing the way he behaved and sounded. At once, he's awake, his body feeling cold. He opens his mouth to say, ''Sorry, I didn't mean-''

He pauses and sort of waits for Derek to interrupt him, impatient, with something along the lines of _Jesus, Stiles, calm down, it's just a fucking sandwich_. It doesn't sound like Derek but that would be a normal reaction, not this stiff silence.

Derek reaches for a plate, his movements unexpectedly fluid and graceful against the awkwardness, and puts his own sandwich on it. ''Here,'' he says, passing it to Stiles.

''Uh, that was yours-''

''It's fine,'' says Derek, his eyes on the floor. ''I don't have exams.''

Stiles doesn't answer at first but decides that's the best ending they could have of this Smol Awkward Encounter, Please No More Of Those. He nods enthusiastically. ''Sure. Thanks.'' He closes and opens his mouth again, searching his mind for something that would pass as a closure, and instead blurts out, ''I'm such an asshole to you.''

Derek shrugs with one arm. ''You're allowed to be.''

Stiles stares at him, disbelieving. ''What the fuck? I'm _not_ ,'' he argues. ''I mean – I'm supposed to – I-'' he stammers, not quite able to say _mates_ when there's just Derek and him. He looks away, to the corridor. ''Yeah, I'll better go,'' he mutters and leaves.

***

Running away is a perfectly reasonable reaction. It's not a solution, though, and being mature means Stiles has to face his issues.

He grimaces, sticks his tongue out at the door of the clinic and goes inside Deaton's office.

''Hey,'' he says, his feet knocking an odd rhythm on the ground, ''can I talk to you about something?''

Deaton doesn't look up from his desk, assembling some papers, but nods.

''So, about this mating bullshit,'' starts Stiles.

''Mating and mates are a natural part of the supernatural world,'' states Deatons calmly.

Stiles hums. ''I don't mind mates somewhere out there, far away from me,'' he replies. ''I do mind that Derek and I are supposedly mates, which we aren't.''

''You are,'' says Deaton and shoves in his direction one of the open books.

Stiles steps closer to look at it and frowns.

''With this spell, you can check whether you and Derek are mates, as well as other relationships within the pack. Look how strong the bonds are and consider strengthening them if needed,'' Deaton instructs him.

''Okay, thanks, I'm going to do that right now,'' states Stiles, already on his way out.

''Tell Scott he can come by earlier today if you meet him.''

''Sure,'' replies Stiles mindlessly, memorizing the necessary ingredients.

***

What's the chance of the custom-made colors in a spell?

Stiles needs to change this glaringly obvious red of the (so-called) mating bond to Derek if he's to use this spell more often.

The bond itself is uneven, jarred, blurred and twisted at Stiles' end. Derek's part of it is strong, magic swirling around.

The pack's bonds are usually deep orange, sometimes strong enough to be almost red, like between Stiles and Scott. Sometimes, it's redder but the orange is still present – as between Erica and Boyd. The bond between him and Boyd, or actually, between Boyd and the rest of pack – except for Erica and, for some reason, Derek – need some serious strengthening.

Curious, Stiles tries to touch one of the bonds. It's almost surprising when his fingers pass through it without any resistance. Intrigued, he plays with them some more before finishing the spell.

''Scott?'' says Stiles, walking into the living room. ''Deaton said you can start earlier today.''

''Okay, thanks!'' Scott calls back.

In a moment, Stiles can hear a laugh from Isaac's room, it's probably Erica, over again, but he doesn't feel like coming up the stairs to check on them.

Leaving, he notices a pair of shoes he doesn't recognize. Probably Isaac's friend, he decides.

***

''Okay,'' says Stiles, entering Deaton's office the second time, ''how do I delete the mating bond?''

''You can't,'' replies Deaton, mixing something.

''Well, what if I do?'' asks Stiles, mostly to be contrary.

''Derek will probably die.''

''Jesus,'' breathes Stiles and meets Deaton's gaze with a frown. ''You do realize how non-consensual and oppressive this mating shit is,'' he says.

''Both those terms were created by humans. Mating is something specific for the supernatural world,'' comes the reply.

Stiles gapes at him. ''But – look. I won't be with Derek. I don't want to be with him. Can't I just sever this mating bond and let him live normally?''

''No,'' replies Deaton simply.

''Oh my god,'' sighs Stiles and plops down on the closest chair.

He doesn't say anything for a while, thinking over the situation, and watches Deaton working. ''What are you preparing?''

''The ingredients for the cleansing of the Nemeton.''

''Right,'' nods Stiles, closing his eyes. ''We still have to do that.'' He sighs again and stands up. ''I'll prepare some shoreline purslane.''

He drives to Derek's loft. Downstairs, there's only Jackson, working out, grunting as he sees Stiles.

Stiles goes to his room to change and take the necessary stuff. After he's done, there's still no one else so he looks at Jackson and says, ''I need your help with something.''

Suddenly, Jackson transforms into a moody teenager. ''Do I have to do that?'' he asks, displeased.

Stiles shrugs. ''Depends. Do you want the people in Beacon Hills to live?''

''Is that a tricky question?''

Stiles glances at him. ''Yeah, for you I guess it is.''

Jackson rolls his eyes but leaves the loft with him.

''I need to go to that lake in the preserve where we've killed the mermaids.''

Jackson grimaces at the memory and reads the scents in the air, then starts walking ahead.

Stiles follows him and after some trekking, he can see the place. ''What are the chances of you getting into the water to get some of those plants over there?'' he asks.

Jackson looks at him incredulously. ''Do you even know how much I paid for my underwear?''

Curious, Stiles watches him. ''How much?'' he asks.

Jackson takes in the air and Stiles recognizes an incoming lecture on the best clothes' brands, so he raises his hands placatingly. ''Just thought I'd try.''

Stiles undresses to his swimming trunks and puts some white buttercup on his body, chanting.

Jackson frowns at him. ''What's that spell for?'

''It repels magic and all kinds of creatures.''

''Works better than it does normally.''

''Har har,'' says Stiles and goes into the water. He finds the plants and starts gathering them.

Once he's done, he comes out and sees Jackson reading a piece of paper.

''You're such a nerd, Stilinski,'' he says. ''Become the best player in Stronghold in Heroes of Might and Magic?''

''It's on the bottom of the list!'' calls Stiles. ''Once I'm done with the exams, get into Berkeley and cleanse the Nemeton. Now turn around, I need to change back.''

Jackson complies and says, ''I'm kinda surprised Derek isn't on this to do list.''

Stiles' mouth turns into a hard line. ''I don't want him.''

''Come on, we still remember how you behaved a few weeks ago.''

Stiles looks at him, disbelieving. ''I was under the influence of magic back then! It wasn't _me_ ,'' he says, stunned.

''But you're mates. What's the difference?''

Stiles doesn't answer, packing the plants. ''Okay, I'm done,'' he mutters and walks after Jackson, thinking about his words. ''Jesus,'' he says softly. ''Either way, I still don't want Derek.''

Jackson glances back at him, his face suddenly serious. ''I don't care if you're here or in Berkeley,'' he says, straightening. ''But I need Derek, and Derek needs you. You hurt him, you hurt the pack and Beacon Hills.''

Stiles glares at him. ''What exactly do you expect from me?'' he asks, ready to argue, and clenches his hands.

Jackson shrugs. ''Talk to him. He's a werewolf, not a human. He doesn't think of mating the same as you.''

***

''Derek's taking this really well,'' says Scott suddenly. He glances at Stiles apologetically and adds, ''I mean, if I had a mate and this happened...''

Allison nods. ''I was wondering if he'll be able to keep going after all that.''

''He's unexpectedly good, though,'' agrees Lydia. ''Isn't he? Isaac, you live with him.''

''Yeah,'' replies Isaac distractedly, busy texting.

Stiles sits motionless in the armchair, staring at them, incredulous. He is unbearably grateful for being somewhat separated from the rest with his seating.

''And after all he's been through,'' adds Erica quietly.

The pack nods before returning to their homework, studying, watching TV.

Stiles drops his eyes to the ground. They really believe in this shit. They really believe Derek is fine when he has all those tells, the way he looks at Stiles, finds him in a room, notices his movements-

and Stiles sees all that, _knows_ all that-

***

Stiles finds it best to not think about mating at all.

''Welcome to the first episode of Cook- ''

''No names.''

Stiles turns to Boyd, offended. ''How else will I create the right mood?''

''We're cutting, boiling, and frying things, Stiles,'' replies Boyd flatly. ''Not making love.''

''I'm shipping them,'' states Erica.

She is sitting with the rest of the pack on the other side of the kitchen counter, watching Stiles and Boyd. For some reason, Danny is present as well.

''Fine, we're skipping the intro,'' sulks Stiles. ''Next part of Cooking with Biles is a Quiz!''

''And that's when I'd change the channel,'' states Lydia.

''How can a cooking show have such a disgusting name?'' asks Jackson with a half-disbelieving, half-horrified face.

''Okay,'' Stiles straightens and crosses his arms, ''we'll make an audience poll. Who doesn't likes the name Cooking Show with Biles?''

Stiles watches the hands in the air. He clears his throat. ''Well, who likes the name?''

Isaac is the only person to raise his hand.

'' _Thank you_ ,'' says Stiles emphatically. ''Can you explain why the name's perfect?''

''It's so bad it would make me watch the show just to leave sarcastic comments,'' replies Isaac. Danny catches his gaze and laughs at his response.

Stiles narrows his eyes at them. ''Neither of you will get a dessert.''

Isaac opens his mouth to argue so Stiles hurries on. ''The second part of Cooking Show with Biles,'' he pauses, waiting as the collective groan passes, ''is a Quiddity Quiz. Now, Boyd,'' he says, turning to him. ''Can you name the dishes in which you'd use pears, beef, and rice?''

Scott raises his hand.

''Ohh, we have the first question from the audience!'' beams Stiles. ''Go ahead!''

''Do you mean one dish in which you'd use all those ingredients at once?'' asks Scott.

''Brilliant question!'' replies Stiles and nods. ''And the answer's yes. It needs to be one dish.''

''Lemongrass beef with pear salad, Korean ground beef bulgogi, and minced beef with sugar-glazed pears,'' replies Boyd without hesitation.

Stiles gapes at him, then starts to unravel his apron.

Erica leans in. ''I like where this is going,'' she says intently.

Stiles gives Boyd the apron. ''Chef Boyd,'' he says, ''you are now the master chef.''

***

Cooking Show with Biles (shut it, the name stays) is still barely a getaway from studying for the exams.

The next day, Stiles props his head on his hand, trying to decipher his notes on English. Scott is across the table from him, frowning at something in his textbook.

''Hey,'' he says raising his gaze to look at Stiles, ''what's with Derek?''

''It was Dorian,'' Stiles corrects him, not looking up. At Scott's silence, he adds, ''Dorian Gray, remember? Not Derek. The one with the portrait.''

''Huh,'' replies Scott, thoughtful, and crosses something in his notebook. ''Right. But I was actually asking about Derek.''

''Oh,'' Stiles lets out. ''Hm,'' he grunts, trying to gain more time to answer. ''What about him?'' he asks finally, defeated as nothing comes to his mind.

Scott thinks of his words, finally settling on, ''You liked him.''

Stiles grimaces. ''Not really. Mind-fuckery? Ring any bells?''

''But it was still you,'' argues Scott, his eyebrows drawn. ''You didn't know about magic at the time. And you liked Derek.''

''That's not exactly...'' starts Stiles, trailing off. He sighs and rubs his eyes, giving up on his notes. His lets his head hit the table with a thud and groans. ''I don't fucking know,'' he confesses, then shakes his head. ''I'm, like, putting this aside. You know? Exams first. GPA and Berkeley first.''

***

Exams are done, his GPA and essay sent to Berkeley, they have a graduation party planned by Erica, Lydia, and Jackson. Derek's there but a lot of people are there.

The holidays begin, and they can finally start cleansing the Nemeton.

Derek's explaining what they are supposed to do. Stiles knows about that already, having prepared the spell in detail with Deaton and now allows himself to listen half-heartedly. His fingers knock an odd rhythm on the armrest, the material soft enough that it doesn't seem to bother anyone – except Derek, his eyes lingering a beat too long on Stiles' fingers before he turns to Scott to answer his question.

Stiles lays his fingers flat.

It's still hard to imagine Derek really believing they are mates, really _thinking_ about Stiles. Stiles has always thought of him as either pissed off or emotionless. But when he observes Derek more closely, he sees when the alpha hesitates, when his gaze stays too long on something, when he grimaces almost imperceptibly, when his gaze turns softer.

''Stiles,'' says Derek, looking at him with his usual blank expression, ''we can help you with the preparation of the materials for the spell if-''

''I'm fine,'' Stiles cuts him off. He's not angry, although hearing those words from Derek earlier would make him mad. Any allusion to Stiles' weakness turned him furious simply because it was true. He glances at Lydia and nods lightly, letting her know she can focus on her own magic.

Now, he grimaces and doesn't look at Derek. He still doesn't like being reminded how much better he could be with magic but isn't.

Derek continues his explanations. There's a tension in his shoulders and Stiles glances around, wondering if anyone's noticed it, but they're all focused on Derek's words. Stiles once again can't believe how oblivious they are – which makes no sense because they aren't – which makes Stiles watchful of Derek _which is all kinds of fucked up_.

Fuck Derek for making Stiles feel like an asshole.

Just a few more weeks and he leaves this shit behind himself.

***

First, though, he needs to prepare.

''How often do I need to strengthen the wards when I'm gone from Beacon Hills?'' asks Stiles, sitting on the examination table, swinging his legs, and watching Deaton organize mountain ash.

Deaton glances at him, then at Derek, and back at him. ''You plan on leaving Beacon Hills?''

Stiles raises his eyebrow, mildly surprised. ''I'm going to college. Berkeley.''

Deaton nods after a beat and glances at Derek again, before turning back to his work. ''I see.'' He keeps quiet and Stiles frowns slightly, not sure what's going on.

''Depending on how complex are your wards, they should be checked on once a week to once a month,'' says Deaton finally, then looks at Derek and lets his gaze linger there.

Stiles stops moving his legs and straightens. ''Why are you looking at Derek?'' he asks, not letting his annoyance show up just yet.

Deaton sighs. ''Mr. Stilinski, whether you want it or not, you're a part of the pack and as such it's-''

''I was asking you, not Derek,'' Stiles interrupts him, holding his gaze. ''So why were you looking at him?''

''Derek is still your alpha and I'm certain he wants to know-''

''What about what _I_ want?''

''It's okay,'' says Derek. ''Stiles can be more – independent.''

''Of course I can,'' scoffs Stiles.

Deaton tightens his mouth. ''That's a delicate position-''

''I trust him,'' replies Derek, his gaze on Deaton.

''As a former emissary to the Hale pack, I _need_ to inform you that it's not advisable-''

''He'll manage,'' Derek cuts him off.

''Can _he_ know what this is about?'' asks Stiles dryly.

Deaton spares him a single glance, then turns away to search for something in his books.

''Here,'' he says, showing Stiles an old, heavy, leather-bound book.

Derek leaves.

Stiles frowns after him. Derek was first at Deaton, had stopped talking with him as soon as Stiles had appeared. When Deaton had asked what's the matter, Stiles had looked at Derek but he'd kept quiet, hadn't looked back, so Stiles had thought he was waiting for Stiles to leave to continue the discussion.

''Huh,'' says Stiles, opening the book and narrowing his eyes at the undersized letters. ''So what's this book about?''

''You'll read,'' replies Deaton.

Surprised by his curt answer, Stiles looks up.

''Everything you need to know for now is in this book. Read it before you leave,'' states Deaton, his eyes on the examination table he's cleaning.

''Okay,'' says Stiles slowly, regarding him. Deaton still won't react, as hard to read as ever. ''I'm going. Thanks.''

***

The Nemeton is cleansed, or at least starts to cleanse, this shit will take weeks, and Stiles wishes he could cleanse Derek like that as well, just make him not think of Stiles. Honestly, he should also cleanse himself to not think of Derek.

Actually, aren't there those kinds of spells?

Stiles can already tell he's going to regret finding out but his fingers switch on his laptop and he opens Google anyways, already searching.

Of course there is mind magic.

Of course he feels sick.

***

Reading's fucking illuminating.

_It is widely accepted that the emissary stays on the pack's territory as they are responsible for the flow of magic, keeping the wards, and healing others. Alphas are known to rarely leave the territory as well since..._

Stiles raises his eyebrows at the text. _Well, fuck social acceptance_ , he reasons. There is no way he's giving up on studying at Berkeley.

The more he reads the tome Deaton gave him, the angrier he gets. He's a fucking emissary. He should go to Derek and give him a whole lecture because he's been convinced he's the weakest link they have, him being human, always weak, always not enough, except he's been acting as the fucking emissary all this time, the emissary being the second-to-alpha role in the pack. He should attack Derek, state _I thought Boyd was your second-in-command_. But Stiles already knows that Boyd _is_ the second-in-command – the emissary acts as the advisor. As Boyd struggles with the werewolves, Stiles cares about the whole pack, including pack-adjacents and relations with the other packs, he can and should question alpha's orders.

Stiles closes the book with a satisfying thud and puts it flat on his desk. He doesn't move.

He doesn't go to Derek. Doesn't unleash all his frustration and anger, incredulity and remorse. Pouring all that on Derek means meeting him and seeing him and, eventually, listening to him.

Stiles doesn't do anything until he has to go to Derek's loft with Scott, the last meeting with the whole pack before everyone starts leaving for colleges.

As they enter, Scott quickly goes off to talk with Isaac and Stiles stays to take off his shoes. He raises his head and sees Derek regarding him. Of course. Stiles barely contains a grimace of displeasure.

He can tell why Derek's waiting for him so he says, ''I've read the information Deaton gave me. It's fine. I can be your emissary.''

There's a second of silence and Stiles glances wistfully to the living room where the rest of the pack is already.

''I understand that you're leaving for college-''

''No, no, it's okay,'' Stiles cuts him off, his leg jittery. He wants to finish the talk as soon as possible.

Derek frowns slightly. ''If you need time to focus on your studies-''

''I'm good, I'm good,'' says Stiles. He has an urge to roll up his sleeves but stops himself, remembering he has a T-shirt and outside the weather's hot, his hand floating nearby his thigh before dropping at his side.

Derek finally looks away. ''If you're sure,'' he says, hesitant.

Stiles doesn't feel like convincing him, doubting if he's a good person for the emissary thing too, but they don't really have anyone else. Lydia is the only other person susceptible to magic but she doesn't like the supernatural, doesn't really want to be involved. Allison keeps far from magic but she still could be an emissary if she didn't have to care for inter-pack relations, being an Argent. The emissary shouldn't be a werewolf and-

there has to be someone so they settle on Stiles.

Stiles tightens his mouth, nods, and finally leaves the corridor, walking to the living room.

Apparently, Isaac is the one going the furthest away from all of them.

''Won't that be a problem?'' asks Stiles, frowning.

Isaac shrugs. ''Danny's going with me.''

''Yeah, but Danny's not pack,'' points out Stiles.

Isaac only shrugs again, unperturbed.

Stiles can't tell why he's being brushed away so he says, ''Well, if you need to be comforted,'' he starts looking at Isaac meaningfully, ''just call me.''

Isaac grimaces. ''I'd rather be comforted by Jackson.''

His retort is too well-aimed and Stiles has to retreat from the conversation, disturbed with the image.

The worst thing about that is, Jackson really has grown closer to Isaac. As far as Stiles knows, it's bonding over fashion trends and brands of clothes. He'd call it lame but then _Lydia_ so he doesn't.

***

''Before you leave,'' starts Lydia, eyeing Stiles, ''you need to establish some clear boundaries between yourself and Derek.''

''Boundaries?''

''You need to be clear whether you're friends or not.''

Stiles draws in his eyebrows. ''Derek already knows I'm not-''

''I wasn't talking about Derek,'' Lydia cuts him off, ''I was talking about you.''

''That makes no sense,'' he replies, regarding her, uncomprehending. ''I'm-'' he pauses, searching for the right word, ''we're acquaintances,'' he tries, but isn't sure about the term. ''Pack colleagues,'' he decides. ''We're pack colleagues, that's it.''

Lydia gives him a long, unreadable look, and sighs. ''For a smart guy, you can be unbelievably dumb,'' she states finally.

***

Stiles doesn't mind Lydia's words because in the first part of her sentence, Lydia gave him a _compliment_. That was exactly what he needed to calm down before leaving his hometown for college.

***

 _One last thing_ , repeats Stiles in his mind, walking through the preserve. One last thing and he's finally leaving. Just to be clear, as Lydia said. To establish boundaries. He has the right to choose, to feel differently, that's how it is, he'll just say that and _leave_.

He's been putting off talking with Derek and now, he's completely unprepared for the sight of Derek playing with a Catbus pendant.

''Hey,'' says Stiles, all his attention on the toy.

Derek stops moving and turns to Stiles. Something in his posture, in his wide eyes tells Stiles he was too deep in his thoughts to actually hear Stiles coming.

Stiles recognizes the thing. Catbus is a character from My Neighbor Totoro, which is anime, and anime means Laura or the rest of Derek's family, and Stiles is an asshole even by mistake.

''I'm leaving tomorrow,'' he says, looking up at Derek when he tries to hide the toy. Stiles turns to the side, bothered by Derek's sudden blank face. ''Look,'' he tries, then messes his hair and looks away, biting his lower lip. ''I don't hate you,'' he says, as unwilling as he is. ''I mean, I can't think of like, dating you, not to mention this being mates crap, and we're hardly friends,'' Stiles pauses, realizing that it doesn't exactly comfort Derek. He lets out his breath. ''Yeah.''

Derek doesn't reply, just stand there, watching him.

Stiles grimaces. ''We can try being friends,'' he says, knowing what a half-assed idea that is.

Derek closes his eyes briefly and turns his head away. ''You don't have to-''

''Yep,'' Stiles interrupts him, going for lighthearted when the atmosphere's so heavy. ''I know.''

''Stiles, you're-'' Derek pauses and shifts his weight before locking eyes with him, having resolved something. ''I'll be happy with whatever you decide, as long as I can have you somehow in my life.''

Stiles stops moving and stares at him, unprepared for such confession. He looks away and licks his lips. ''Wouldn't it be better if I just leave and you can – try to get on with your life,'' he suggests, shaking his head.

''There's only you, Stiles,'' says Derek. His voice is unbearably soft.

Stiles rolls up his sleeves, not sure how to answer. He lets out a short, somewhat freaked out laugh. ''Jesus, Derek, you can't say shit like that,'' he replies, messing his hair and taking a few steps to the side before returning to his previous spot.

''You're my mate.''

''Yeah, that's a fucking chirograph you've never even signed, no free will, forever thing, you won't ever be happy alone,'' describes Stiles without a pause. ''Clear nightmare,'' he sums up.

''That's not what it is to me,'' says Derek, then looks to the side.

Stiles catches himself watching his profile and snaps his head away.

Derek raises his gaze, his eyes big, hazel in this light, expression open, although Stiles has no idea how to define it.

''I love you,'' says Derek. ''I'll always wait for you.''

Stiles can't bear to look at him. ''I'm sorry-''

''Don't be. I understand.''

''Well, you shouldn't _have to_ understand,'' argues Stiles and sees a slight smile appearing on Derek's face.

The guilt makes him drop his eyes to the floor. Suddenly, he feels a warm hand on his cheek and peeks at Derek. For a second, Derek just watches him and there's a moment where Stiles is sure, all in a panicked mess of neurons, that he'll kiss Stiles, like a goodbye kiss or some other crap, and Stiles wants it _not_ , of course, he doesn't, fuck-

''As long as you're in my life, I'm happy,'' says Derek, overwhelmingly gentle. He brushes with his thumb Stiles' cheek again, just below his eye, and with the last glance, walks away.

 

_***_

Berkeley is – good. The courses are awesome, the people are okay, and the parties are completely disappointing.

It's not that Stiles remains unseen, like in high school. People do notice him, the girls regarding his arms, the guys' gaze dropping to his mouth. They approach him at parties, talk with him, step in – and that's when the problem emerges.

Stiles doesn't want any of that. He was supposed to have fun and forget himself in the parties, but he can't. Whenever he sees someone nice, talks to them, they get closer, Stiles tries to imagine kissing the person, touching them and he just feels – just, no.

He's always thought college will be his chance to finally get away from the small town bullshit, the only strands tying him to Beacon Hills his dad and Scott. Now, however, it turns out to be the whole pack, the magic, and this weird pull to go check what's going on in his hometown.

The pull he tries to resist just once.

***

The first two weeks have swept by so quickly Stiles has barely noticed the time. Berkeley is full of events, clubs, organizations and they all fill in the time before the third week with the presentations and the quizzes. Stiles plans to come back, he needs to strengthen the wards, he knows he is responsible for them but then, he forgets about the essay. The articles to read are just a cherry on top.

He knows he needs to come back when he can't keep still during the lectures, has problems sleeping and finds himself recalling Beacon Hills ten times a day. He's not homesick – Beacon Hills sucks, full of monsters, too small to have any kinds of interesting stuff going on, and whenever it's not dangerous, it's simply boring – _but it would be nice to go back_ , he finds himself thinking. Just to check if things are fine.

He has no idea how it makes sense. It probably doesn't.

***

The drive takes him less than three hours and instead of going to his dad, he turns to go to Derek's loft, again feeling this odd need to just be there finally.

When he enters, he hugs Scott for what feels like an eternity, promising himself to never go this long without checking on Beacon Hills again. It's fucking unhealthy, is what it is. Maybe he can ask Deaton to do something about it unless it's another mates bullshit. _For fuck's sake_.

Just the sight of everyone in the loft makes him feel better. There's still some nagging at the back of his mind and he shifts in his seat, playing Mario Kart with Scott.

He stands up to go to the kitchen and that's when he sees Derek.

For a second, he can just look at him, feeling like he's finally settled in his skin. ''Oh,'' he manages, ''hi.''

Derek gives him a slight smile, glancing up at him. Stiles feels like leaving and steps closer, wants to go back to Scott, to keep himself in place and to see more of Derek. ''How were things here?'' he asks. He realizes he hasn't stopped watching Derek since he came in and drops his eyes to the floor, feeling self-conscious.

''Calm,'' replies Derek. ''We only had an omega passing the territory. We'll need to visit the neighboring packs soon.''

''Huh,'' says Stiles. He searches for something to say, instead remembering all the issues he shouldn't mention nearby Derek. He focuses even more on them and doesn't say anything.

Derek steps aside like he plans to leave but Stiles glances at him and shoots him a smile to keep him there for just a second longer. Derek catches his gaze and stills, waiting.

For some odd reason, Stiles tries to remember Derek as he sees him at the moment, wearing a soft green sweater, calm expression, his eyes reflecting the setting sun. He feels the overwhelming need to hug Derek suddenly, make sure he's really alive and warm but pushes it down, only allowing himself to step closer and clap Derek on the arm.

He gives him another smile, trying to lengthen the time his hand can touch Derek. It's weird, he knows he's _weird_ but can't stop himself, something finally settling in place, finally leaving him calm.

Derek stands completely still under his touch.

Stiles quickly moves away. ''Good,'' he says one more time and nods. He really should leave now. ''Thanks,'' he adds more quietly, and finally walks out of the kitchen. Why did he come in anyway?

He should strengthen the wards, he remembers, and goes out.

Just as he raises his hands to shoot a spell, Erica bursts out of the door, almost hitting him in the face.

Stiles frowns at her but Erica slams the door closed and shoots him a glare. ''What was that?'' she hisses.

Stiles' mind momentarily focuses on the image of Derek's soft smile from just a while back. ''What?'' he asks, hoping she wants to talk about anything else.

Erica narrows her eyes in anger. ''You don't get to do this shit, Stilinski,'' she says. ''It's been _years_ for Derek.''

Stiles grimaces. ''Yeah, two years,'' he mutters. He regrets the words at once, feeling like an asshole.

Erica gave him a poke on the nose. ''Two years of thinking your mate hates you.''

''Derek knows – I told him everything, okay? What do you want?'' replies Stiles, defensive.

Erica makes a face at him. ''Derek knows you don't want to be anything more than friends with him so start behaving like you want to be friends _at most_ , too,'' says Erica. ''Just a, you know, suggestion,'' she adds sarcastically.

''I didn't do anything!'' calls Stiles, at the last second remembering his lingering touch and gaze, the words turning into a lie.

Erica steps closer and stares at him, her hand gripping Stiles' arm, pressing too hard.

''Okay, okay,'' says Stiles, reminded of his behavior. He takes a step back and sighs, ''Jeez, you're making this weird.''

Erica takes in an annoyed breath, ready to argue, exasperated by now, but Stiles raises his hands at once. '' _Okay_ , I get it, I get it.''

Erica regards him for a while before nodding her head. ''I need two favors.''

Stiles groans. ''I already told you I'm not going to research sex magic for you. I don't have enough power for this shit.''

''No, I don't need it,'' replies Erica easily. ''I asked Lydia for that already.''

Stiles can feel his mouth drop open in surprise.

Erica raises an eyebrow at him.

For three seconds, Stiles' good side, the bright one, reminding him of Scott, keeps on a fight just to be defeated. ''Can I just see the notes Lydia-''

''And that's why I said _two_ favors,'' Erica interrupts him with a decisive, self-satisfied nod. ''First, I want you to look for some psychotherapists around here. Preferably those knowing about the supernatural.''

Stiles looks up at her, startled. ''Uh, sure-''

''For me,'' she explains and before Stiles can ask about anything more, she starts speaking again. ''The second favor is to nudge Derek to visit a therapist as well. I'll tell the rest to keep it discreet and respect his decision, but I really think it could help him. And I'll be the first one to see if it's any good.''

Stiles blinks. ''So you're going just to feel this person out?''

''Nope,'' she says, then glances to the side, probably checking if anyone's listening. She looks back at Stiles and shrugs, grimacing slightly. ''My mind's kinda messy sometimes,'' she explains shortly.

***

Stiles experiences a messy mind two weeks later.

Back in Berkeley, he is at an integration party, in a completely different world, hearing about professors, courses, hometowns, high school memories. He gets it. The weird thing is, it's all kinda lacking. Stiles can mention Isaac, his friend in a nursing program, not Isaac, the were from his pack. He can't say anything about magic, his or Lydia's, witches or druids, he can't mention his alpha. The party's okay, just, well, just lacking.

It's not really his world but if Berkeley is not that, then what is? Beacon Hills?

Stiles grimaces, heading to his lecture the next day. It's not important. He's got better things to do.

One of them is waiting for a text from Erica after her first meeting with the therapist he's found. He fishes out his mobile, glancing down as it won't come out from his jeans when a guy heads his way around the corner. Stiles manages to step aside in the last moment, at once ready to fight, his hand instinctively going to his herbs, adrenaline surging.

''Are you okay?'' the guys asks.

''Yeah,'' Stiles nods his head, trying to dampen his physical reaction.

The guy watches him and smiles. ''It's Stiles, right?'' He offers his hand. ''Colin,'' he explains.

''Hey,'' says Stiles, trying to place his face. ''Don't we have Legal Research and Writing together?''

''We have,'' agrees Colin, his smile growing.

That's how he meets Colin, who's nice.

Yes, he's nice.

Stiles has no more words about him.

***

Stiles has a lot of words about Derek.

He blinks and refocuses on the lecture on Civil Procedure, then looks to the side. The weirdest stuff comes to his mind. Things like, he's never seen Derek naked.

Of course he's never seen Derek naked, why would he? He doesn't even think about Derek.

He glances down at his notes on the main stages of civil litigation in the trial court. _Pleading, discovery, summary judgment..._

That's so annoying. Is this one of those thoughts that won't leave you alone, just keep coming back to you at the oddest times?

Fine, he thinks about Derek, but he doesn't want to, _it is not his choice_ to think about Derek.

***

That Friday, there's another party and Stiles knows he must socialize so he heads there, as much as he'd rather stay in. He talks and drinks coke, not really wanting any alcohol. Colin laughs at his jokes and makes some of his own, and Stiles thinks he should drink to have more fun and not mind that Colin is leaning closer now. He doesn't have the time, though, before Colin laughs at something again and lets his hand fall on Stiles' back, his thumb on the hip.

Stiles manages to keep his face neutral and convinces himself to go with it because clearly, he needs that. He's waited for the hookup and Colin's nice, _look, his eyes are nice, and he's handsome, he is._ It probably shouldn't feel like this.

But Stiles is facing his Issue. That's what Issues are for, to face them. He has a problem, something's wrong, and _this is him facing it_. Colin puts another hand on Stiles' neck and moves closer, crowding Stiles against the wall.

It's not bad. Really, in a strictly physical sense it's nice, he'd probably get turned on if it wasn't – just – Colin – and – anyone else, he doesn't really want anyone-

Stiles pushes Colin off gently and is ready to apologize but Colin doesn't even seem that surprised. Stiles suggests something about friends, he isn't sure what exactly he's saying, Colin agrees, giving him an awkward smile. ''Can't blame me for trying,'' Stiles hears before Colin walks off.

Stiles escapes to the bathroom and heaves int the toilet.

Nothing comes out. Stiles still feels like shit. He washes his hands hurriedly, wanting to leave the place as quickly as possible. He contemplates drinking on his way to the dorms, but suddenly the need to be back in Beacon Hills hits him hard. He wants to be back to the place he knows, to be with the people he actually knows and _he should stay here, make friends here_ , fuck what-he-shoulds.

He doesn't think much as he's getting into his Jeep and driving out of the campus. He doesn't think much on his way to Beacon Hills either.

He realizes his mistake as he gets close to Derek's loft but on the other hand, Derek said so many times the loft is as much theirs as it is his, it should be more than fine. He takes out his key, the decision made and walks to the door when it opens.

Derek looks at him and his posture stiffens.

''Hey,'' says Stiles. ''Sorry for no heads-up,'' he adds, watching Derek, still unmoving in the doorframe, blocking the entrance.

''It's fine,'' replies Derek.

Stiles frowns at him slightly. ''Uh, can I come in?'' he asks, feeling out of place. ''I need a shower,'' he adds and that's when he understands what Derek must smell on him. ''I mean,'' he starts, cringing internally, ''I didn't- Colin-''

Derek tightens his lips and turns to the side, his gaze hard, but not on Stiles.

Stiles waits for the familiar anger. Derek's bitter even though Stiles has never promised anything about them, more – he's been adamant about not being interested in Derek. He has no right to behave the way he does now, has no right to be infuriated or disappointed, his feelings are not Stiles' business.

But more than anything, Stiles is tired. He finds no strength for the fight, the arguments feel old, worn-out, and the situation must be mostly startling for Derek. Even if he suspected hookups and parties, because _college_ , Stiles imagines it's convenient to not think about it.

He shifts his weight and softly lets out his breath. He wonders if he should just drive to his dad this late.

''I'll prepare sheets for you,'' says Derek suddenly, not looking at him and retreating inside the loft, ''and towels.'' Just before he can disappear, Stiles hears him saying, ''You can stay as long as you need.''

After a second, Stiles steps inside and closes the door. That was weird but then again, has he ever expected anything else from Derek?

***

When he wakes up, he feels rested as he rarely ever does. He stretches and does his morning routine: finding his magic, brimming under his skin, throwing a spell to check if everything he thinks is true is _actually_ true, and works out quickly. He's never thought he'd do morning exercise but he really feels better with it.

''Hey,'' he says, finding Derek in the kitchen. He's cutting the bread and his sleeves are rolled up, showing his forearms. The pale morning light changes his skin tone.

''Hi,'' replies Derek.

Stiles stands in the doorframe and leans against it, unsure if yesterday has changed something. ''I think I'll correct the wards today, strengthen the ones on the verge of the territory,'' he says, watching as Derek makes sandwiches.

''Okay,'' Derek nods.

He doesn't feel different than usual, his body doesn't seem tense. Stiles looks away and realizes he can hear some music. ''Oh my god, is this anime music,'' he blurts out.

Derek freezes and seems to think of an answer which is already incriminating. ''I- not really-''

''I think I know that song,'' Stiles interrupts him, listening in. ''Can you imagine how much Erica would do for this information?'' he breathes out, straightening, already amazed with the prospect.

''I don't like most of the anime music,'' Derek tries to defend himself, but he's lost already and seems to understand it, finding Stiles' gaze.

Stiles smirks. ''Details,'' he says.

Actually, what does Derek usually listen to? What does he do in his free time? What kind of books does he read? Stiles has seen him with a book a few times but never paid attention to the cover.

For someone he knows, Stiles doesn't really know Derek at all.

***

Next time he visits Beacon Hills, Stiles is ready to keep playing Heroes of Might and Magic – being one of the best players in Stronghold waits for no one. He is completely focused on his laptop, sitting comfortably next to Derek on the couch as the man reads a book.

Now, Stiles is in the middle of the battle, but he still glances in the direction of-

The Walker's Guide to Outdoor Clues and Signs.

Stiles eyes the title without a comment long enough that Derek raises his eyebrow at him.

''Nothing,'' Stiles blurts out. ''I have absolutely nothing against you reading The Walker's Guide to Outdoor Clues and Signs.''

Derek nods. ''Good,'' he says calmly and goes back to his reading.

Stiles doesn't move. ''Is this your werewolf heritage or-''

He cuts himself off, turning serious as he feels the wards. He groans, loud and despairing because he has to stop the game and has no means to save the progress while in the battle.

''Someone has just breached the territory,'' he explains and sighs heavily, standing up.

''You don't really have to go,'' starts Isaac, looking at him oddly. ''Right? Just tell us where it is and we can check it out.''

Stiles regards him, distrustful. ''Are you trying to be _nice_?'' he asks finally, closing the game and then, the laptop. ''That's so weird now I _have_ to go.''

Isaac rolls his eyes. ''I'm just saying, we can see what it is and call you.''

''Pretty sure I have to be there, I'm the emissary. It must be in my contract's job description somewhere.''

''Yeah, you have to go,'' confirms Jackson and smirks at Stiles' expression.

Stiles goes to the corridor and hurriedly puts on his sneakers. As he fights with his hoodie, Scott's waiting at the door, jittery. ''Can we just go? We'll smell if anything's wrong.''

''Nope, I'll lead you,'' says Stiles, finally in his hoodie. ''So much alpha,'' he adds, impressed with himself.

Derek glances at him and curls up his lips a bit. The expression's barely there but Stiles can still see it.

''Stiles,'' Allison speaks up, ''which direction?''

''South.''

Allison frowns at him, then points at Derek with her eyes, questioning the earlier passing smiles.

''South-east,'' Stiles precises and shrugs at the unspoken inquiry, looking away to take his baseball bat.

He doesn't know what's the problem. Derek understands they can be just friends and finally, they can stay in the same room without trying to kill one another or the atmosphere turning unbearable – yet everyone gets shifty about it.

''Scott, Isaac, Allison, Stiles and I will go first. The rest goes with Boyd when you're ready,'' orders Derek and the group leaves.

They encounter three people in the meadow in the preserve. Stiles stands next to Derek and watches a woman with short, red hair on his left, then Danny and his father on the left. He frowns at Danny but the guy won't meet his eyes, gazing at Isaac before focusing somewhere ahead.

His father has a cold, devoid of any emotions face as he stares at them. Stiles can imagine him with a cigar. Usually, that means that the person is at least partially evil and knows about the supernatural.

He reminds himself the fastest spells he can use, finding the steps – preparing the herbs, burning them, the chanting – comforting. There's no bullshitting through this.

Scott tries bullshitting.

''What a coincidence,'' he says.

Everyone ignores him, Danny's father refusing to rest his eyes on him, deeming Scott unworthy of his attention.

Scott looks at the woman. ''Are you new to Beacon Hills? The preserve is one of most beautiful places here,'' he adds with a sunny smile. The woman stares at him.

''I'm so sorry, Scott,'' blurts out Stiles, feeling guilty after all his bullshitting lessons.

Scott makes a face. ''Can we at least try pretending we're all normal?'' he asks, but his question is lost as the rest of the pack appears.

''Alpha Hale,'' starts Danny's father, apparently having enough.

Scott grimaces.

Derek looks at Mr. Mahealani and gives him an almost imperceptible nod. '' _Akamai_ Mahealani.''

''We offer our services to your pack in exchange for your protection of us and the territory,'' continues Danny's father.

Stiles frowns between them. ''Uh, as sweet as that is,'' he starts, ''we're kinda busy, so talk later?'' he suggests.

Mr. Mahealani narrows his eyes at him, mildly annoyed, and glances at Derek questioningly.

''Speaking as Alpha Hale's emissary,'' adds Stiles.

Mr. Mahealani doesn't look at him, waiting for Derek's reaction, who only nods again.

''Okay,'' says Stiles cheerfully and claps his hands once, the sound oddly loud in the forest. He turns to the young, red-haired woman and says, ''So, welcome to Beacon Hills!''

Isaac winces at that and finally turns away from Danny, with whom he kept exchanging looks.

''Hi,'' replies the woman slowly, unsure what to do with the attention. ''Alpha Hale,'' she says, cautious, nodding at Derek and flashing her eyes beta gold.

Derek nods back and flashes his eyes as well. ''Are you staying in Beacon Hills?''

''No,'' she answers, shifting her weight and adjusting her backpack. ''I'm only passing through.''

''Do you want to establish contact between the packs?''

She blinks at him, surprised. ''I can't do that, I'm afraid. I'm more of a pack-adjacent than a pack member,'' she explains. ''My pack are the Lems in Roseburg, Oregon.''

Derek gives her another nod and straightens slightly, which means that's all he needed to know.

''Thanks,'' says Stiles. ''That's all we wanted to know.''

The woman gives them another nod and starts walking again, her pace fast. She doesn't turn back.

'' _Akamai_ Mahealani,'' starts Derek, ''I understand you want to start cooperating with my pack.''

''Yes, on official terms,'' agrees Mr. Mahealani.

Stiles draws in his eyebrows at the choice of words. ''Were you doing something earlier unofficially?'' he asks.

Mr. Mahealani acts like he didn't hear him, won't look at him, instead keeps his eyes on Derek.

''Please answer my emissary's question,'' says Derek, mildly annoyed. His voice starts to have a note of the low-key threatening mode from the good old days.

Slowly, like it pains him to do so, Danny's father turns to Stiles. ''We had an agreement with the previous Hale emissary,'' he explains, ''but the contract needs to be revised as there's a new person occupying the position.''

There's a pause as Danny's father keeps regarding Stiles.

''Emissary Stilinski,'' he says finally, suffering through the title, ''I'm Kaleo Mahealani and this is my son, Daniel Mahealani.''

Stiles nods. ''I'm guessing you're part of the supernatural world.''

Mr. Mahealani gazes at Stiles for longer than normal before saying a simple, ''Yes.''

Stiles raises up his eyebrows. ''And? What are you?''

Mr. Mahealani grimaces at the question but replies, looking at Stiles expectantly, ''Our last name is Mahealani.''

Stiles frowns at them. ''Yeah, I got that,'' he says. ''So what are you?''

''Mahealani in Hawaiian means full moon-''

''Okay, as fascinating as that is, can you just say what-''

''I apologize for my emissary's lack of knowledge,'' Derek chimes in smoothly. ''He's been introduced to the supernatural world only recently and he's still new in his position.''

Stiles manages to keep his face blank, doesn't look at Derek, his shoulders stiffening as he feels anger and embarrassment welling up inside him.

Mr. Mahealani tightens his mouth before answering, ''Of course. I understand.'' He turns back to Stiles and says, ''Mahealani line has been famous for centuries as the line of witches gifted in mind magic.''

Stiles feels his blood turn cold. ''Mind magic,'' he repeats, hollow.

''Yes. For many years, we haven't used our magic as an agreement with the Hales' pack previous emissary, Alan Deaton, for obvious reasons. As you are the new emissary, we'd like to renew the contract, possibly adds some amendments.''

Stiles has trouble concentrating on the words. _For obvious reasons_ , keeps echoing in his mind.

''Stiles,'' speaks up Danny, watching him intently, ''Listen, I can be part of your pack-''

''Daniel-'' starts Mr. Mahealani, turning to him slowly, his eyes narrowed.

''We can write a new contract and I could _help you,_ '' finishes Danny, ignoring his father.

Stiles doesn't reply. He isn't sure how he's still standing.

Danny frowns at him slightly. ''Look, I know how you feel with the fact that we haven't helped you earlier but I couldn't do anything because of the deal my father made-''

''Enough,'' Mr. Mahealani cuts him off. ''It was for your own good-''

Danny snaps his head to him, angry as Stiles has never seen him. ''They've been fighting all this time and we did nothing! We have all this magic, we know other witches and packs and you've never-''

''Silence,'' utters Mr. Mahealani. ''You had to learn to control your magic-''

''Well, I can't learn anymore with the Nemeton cleansed, can I?'' asks Danny sharply. His father doesn't reply, his jaw shut tight.

Danny turns back to Stiles, searching his face for understanding. ''Stiles, I can help all of you. I've been training, I'm still learning and-''

Stiles feels the blood drain from his face. ''You've been training,'' he says after him, then lets out a quiet, ''Jesus.''

There is a moment of silence before Danny starts talking again, but Stiles doesn't listen to him anymore. ''Go away,'' he manages finally, his voice quiet.

Danny pauses. ''Sorry?''

''Go away!'' shouts Stiles, and takes in a breath, realizes he's trembling.

Danny seems to not quite understand the situation. ''I-''

''What the fuck, Stiles?'' steps in Isaac, frowning at him.

Stiles sees Derek turning to Mr. Mahealani and saying, ''If we could continue some other time-''

''I planned to finish the contract today.''

''Please,'' manages Stiles, not watching them. He needs to throw the spells detecting the presence of magic in his aura. He can't stop himself from remembering the moment back at Deaton's when all the memories returned to him. ''We need to think over your offer.''

Mr. Mahealani isn't too happy but nods. ''Hopefully, we will renew the contract another time, then,'' he says.

''Or change it entirely,'' adds Danny, looking at Stiles, ignoring his father's grimace. ''I'm serious, Stiles, I'd like to join your pack.'' Then, he meets Derek's gaze and nods, ''Alpha Hale.''

They leave and Stiles takes a step to the side.

Isaac glares at him, his face changed with cold anger but Stiles can't deal with any of that anymore. He walks away and reaches to his bag for some herbs, spilling some with his trembling hands. He draws in the magic and starts the spell.

He doesn't know how much time passes before he emerges from the frenzy of casting the spells. He is on the fifth one, probably, and realizes blood is dripping from his nose. He needs to stop but first, he'll finish the spell, just to make sure – his mind- anything can be wrong if he doesn't know the tru-

''Stiles,'' says Derek quietly from behind him. ''You should stop now.''

Stiles wipes off the blood from his nose in annoyance, doesn't turn to Derek. ''I'll just finish the-''

''Stiles,'' Derek repeats softly, ''you're bleeding,'' he says, stepping closer.

Stiles freezes, all tense, and hears Derek sigh.

''Finish the spell,'' agrees Derek after a moment, ''but let me help you, okay?''

This time, he doesn't wait for the answer and puts a hand on Stiles' nape, drawing the pain Stiles didn't know he felt.

When the last spell is finished, showing nothing, Stiles feels drained. He drops down on the grass, hears the crumble of leaves under his feet and doesn't look at Derek.

''I suck as the emissary, huh.''

To his surprise, Derek sits down on the ground as well. Stiles looks back but it seems like everyone has gone back to the loft already.

''Don't say that,'' orders Derek, his voice low. He finds Stiles' gaze and doesn't let him look away. ''I chose you for the position because I knew you could handle it. You care for the pack, you're strong, and what you don't know now, you'll learn soon enough. You're smart.''

''What was that,'' he starts, not looking at Derek, ''this title? _Akamai_ Mahealani?''

''It means _wise_ in Hawaiian,'' replies Derek.

Stiles grimaces. ''I don't want them in the pack,'' he says after a while. ''Not with this-''

''They didn't choose the mind magic. Your spark lets you draw the magic from your surroundings, mainly your relations. Theirs is focused on the others' minds.''

''How can you be so understanding about it?'' asks Stiles, glaring at Derek. ''Wasn't Jennifer the same?''

Stiles regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth. He can't look at Derek.

''She was,'' agrees Derek after a minute.

He can almost feel Derek's gaze on him. Hates how uncomfortable that makes him. ''What was the deal with her, anyway?'' he finds himself saying, just to turn the attention somewhere else, irrationally angry with Derek. ''You knew me back then, so if you really thought we were mates-''

''She already used the magic back then.''

Stiles stops himself from saying anything.

''I should have told you about the Mahealanis,'' speaks up Derek suddenly. ''I didn't think you'd react that way.''

Stiles looks up. Derek's still sitting across from him, his face void of any clear expression.

''Why is everyone surprised at that?'' he asks, straightening and picking the first flower under his fingers. It turns out to be snapdragon. ''I was a completely different person. I remember the way I thought, how I acted, why I did what I did but even knowing all that, remembering it, _that wasn't me_ ,'' he says, stressing the words. ''But we're mates, so who the fuck cares?'' he ends, not caring how bitter he sounds.

Derek doesn't answer, there's nothing he can say to that. Stiles gets up and starts walking back to the loft. He hears Derek standing up slowly behind him but doesn't look at him. It probably makes him more of an asshole than he already is but he can't stand the thought of seeing Derek at the moment.

***

''I don't want Danny in the pack,'' he states, once in the loft. ''Not with mind magic.''

''It's Danny, Stiles,'' explodes Isaac, staring at him incredulously. ''You actually know him. He wouldn't hurt anyone!''

''How can you be sure of that?'' asks Stiles at once. ''He said he was training,'' Stiles adds, his nails digging into his skin so that the pain can ground him. ''Can you imagine how that even looks like?''

''Jesus,'' snorts Isaac without a trace of humor. ''It's just training!''

Stiles turns to him and asks, slowlier now, ''And how do you know that?''

Isaac freezes for a second, his eyes widening.

Stiles loses all the strength, the readiness for the argument, and flops down on the couch. The longer the silence stretches, the more Stiles remembers the mentions of Isaac _and_ Danny. ''Isaac,'' he manages weakly, ''what have you done?''

''It was just training,'' repeats Isaac, but he's not as convinced as he was earlier. ''It was mostly on the animals-''

''How did it look like,'' asks Stiles, his voice with a steely note.

Scott turns to look at Isaac, devastated.

Isaac glares at Stiles and turns away. ''The mind magic,'' he starts, grimacing, ''is obviously powerful. It's _terrific_ but it causes pain. Not only to the one affected by the spell but others nearby, too,'' he explains. ''That's why it's generally forbidden.''

Erica closes her eyes and hides her face in her hands, Boyd bringing his arm around her without a word, his gaze kept on Isaac.

''What does _nearby_ mean?'' asks Stiles, his voice lacking emotion.

Isaac shrugs, can't meet his eyes. ''Depends on the spell.''

''And Danny's trained on the animals,'' says Stiles. ''You know they actually feel pain.''

Isaac glares at him, his mouth tightened. ''Between caring for the animals' well-being and ensuring my pack's survival I'll always pick my pack,'' he answers. ''And he's tried that on me, okay? It wasn't anything...''

Isaac continues talking, starting an argument with Scott, but Stiles is already muting the words, his body tensing, ready to throw another spell before he remembers he's barely checked everyone and it's clear, they are clear.

''It wasn't even that painful,'' Isaac keeps on talking, louder now, ignoring the shocked looks from the rest of the pack. ''You all think that after my father-'' he stops himself, glaring at them. ''Werewolves are stronger, it doesn't affect us that much, and Danny was holding back anyway-''

Stiles turns to look at the pack and asks, ''Can someone...?''

Lydia tightens her mouth and locks eyes with Isaac. ''Doesn't it seem,'' she pauses, searching for the word, ''ethically questionable to you?''

''He needed to train,'' replies Isaac at once. ''We were constantly under attack, don't you remember? And I knew that he could help us if-''

''He wanted to help us?'' asks Stiles dubiously.

Isaac frowns at him like he can't believe Stiles questions Danny's motives. '' _Of course he did_ ,'' he replies, no doubt in his voice.

''Isaac, you're obviously biased here,'' speaks up Derek, ignoring the look Isaac sends him.

''Danny mentioned something about the Nemeton,'' remembers Stiles. ''What does it have to do with anything?''

Isaac rubs his forehead, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. ''Do I have to say all that? You can ask them-''

''Isaac,'' says Allison softly and looks at him apologetically when he glances at her, surprised, ''how do you know all this?''

Isaac drops his head. ''I didn't hide it,'' he says, sounding like he's trying to convince himself as much as them. ''I told Derek.''

Stiles glances at Derek, who says simply, ''He's been seeing Danny.''

Stiles looks away and shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. ''The Nemeton,'' he reminds Isaac.

''Danny's father decided to live in Beacon Hills because of the Nemeton. It's not about power, the Nemeton causes disruptions in magic, attracts supernatural, and as such, no one observes the magic too closely.''

Stiles frowns. ''There are people observing magic?''

''Isn't that what Deaton does?'' asks Isaac with a shrug.

''Danny told you all this?'' asks Stiles, disbelieving.

Isaac shrugs. ''He wants to help,'' he repeats. ''And his father needed to teach him how to control the magic.''

''I'm-'' Stiles starts, then shakes his head. ''Honestly, I don't want this shit in my pack.''

Isaac stands up, his hands in fists. ''Just because the witch made you-''

''Isaac,'' Derek cuts him off sharply, his eyes gleaming red until Isaac tightens his mouth and plops down on the couch, his gaze on the floor.

''Can someone else testify for the Mahealanis?'' asks Derek, turning to the rest of the pack.

''We can trust Danny,'' answers Jackson. ''He's my friend. His father's different story, though.''

''Lydia?''

''We need him, if only for his knowledge and networks. He's been in the supernatural community for a long time now. We can renew the interpack relations, cooperate with other packs and such,'' answers Lydia, then grimaces slightly. ''I wouldn't say I trust Danny, but he's less distrustful than other people beyond the pack.''

''Boyd?''

Boyd shakes his head. ''I'm staying out of this.''

Derek looks at Erica and she keeps quiet before asking, ''He'll be bound by a contract, right? As long as it's strict enough, I agree.''

''This is Danny you're talking about,'' interjects Isaac, incredulous. ''He hasn't-''

''Isaac,'' growls Derek in warning. Isaac leans back and turns away, his mouth twisted down.

Allison steps in, her expression decisive. ''I agree with Lydia. If nothing else, we need him.''

Scott is the last one and he smiles weakly, looking at the rest. ''I mean, the more, the merrier, right? Besides,'' he pauses and looks at Stiles, growing serious, ''I trust Danny.''

Stiles shrugs. He doesn't.

He closes his eyes, analyzing the situation again. He hates the idea of having someone with mind magic close. The next time they are attacked and he uses his magic, he might be too weak to defend himself and the pack, too weak to even check if anything's changed – it's a huge risk. Still, Lydia and Allison are right. They'd be stronger with connections to the supernatural world, with someone from a notable family line. Plus all the knowledge Danny can offer-

Stiles looks at Derek and asks, ''Alpha?''

Startled, Derek snaps his gaze to him and his eyes flash red for a moment.

Stiles lets out a laugh at his reaction and precises, ''Do you think we should take Danny?''

Derek looks away and nods. ''In the current situation, it would be a privilege to have him with us.''

Stiles grimaces. ''Okay, so I guess we take him.'' Isaac looks up at him hopefully. ''But none of this privilege shit. Right now, he'll have the lowest rank possible, like a toilet master or something.''

Isaac narrows his eyes.

Stiles makes a face at him, then turns to Jackson. ''Can you prepare a contract for Danny like you did for me? We'll need to revise it with him and his father next time.''

***

Jackson keeps smirking the whole time they are negotiating with Danny and his father. Stiles admits the contract is good but Jesus, seeing Jackson like that is annoying. Honestly, his face is annoying. And his shirt is stupid. He's about to say something about it when the direction of the talk changes and Danny starts defending himself and his father again.

''We needed to stay neutral,'' he says, his voice firm but gaze dropping to the floor. ''I keep telling you there was the contract-''

Stiles narrows his eyes, but bites back his anger to ask in an almost neutral voice, ''Like Switzerland?''

Danny glances at Stiles, surprised but hoping to have his understanding. ''Yeah.''

''So like Switzerland, it brought more benefits to eventually cooperate with the alpha pack than to help this small local pack to help Beacon Hills? You needed to survive best as you could, after all,'' continues Stiles, his jaw set and hands in fists. He is furious but keeps himself in place – he has to, being the emissary.

Danny winces and looks away. ''It wasn't my decision,'' he repeats for what feels like thousandth time.

''Seriously,'' says Stiles, tearing his eyes away from Danny to look at Mr. Mahealani, forget _akamai_ , ''your father thought we will all die eventually, so what's the point in helping, right?''

Mr. Mahealani doesn't answer, clearly unbothered by whatever Stiles thinks of him.

Danny shoots him a glare, a rare look of anger on his face. Stiles wonders what kind of atmosphere must be at their house if the conflict between them is this prominent.

And then he chooses not to think about it.

Stiles lets out a sharp breath after a moment of silence. ''I fucking can't.''

Mr. Mahealani finally gives him the contract to sign. Stiles grimaces and signs it, although the contract is the same as before and basically forbids Mr. Mahealani to use his magic in Beacon Hills. He already plans to leave the town and has enough contacts in the US that it's not a problem for him.

The issue is with Danny.

Mr. Mahealani leaves as soon as his contact's ready. Stiles turns to Danny and says without any emotion, ''Welcome to the pack, I guess.''

Danny glances in Isaac's direction, enough of a distraction for Stiles to shoot a quick spell. Danny gives Stiles his most charming smile and Stiles knows that a month ago, two weeks ago, before Derek-curled-his-lips-at-him ago, he'd leave it at that. Show Danny he's not happy about him joining the pack and that he'll be observed. Now, however, Danny's dimpled, friendly smile is just an expression. Stiles is not swayed.

He leans in and says without hurry in a low voice, ''If I ever hear again that you trained with Isaac and _it didn't even hurt that much_ because _werewolves are stronger,_ I will hurt you, magic or not.'' He sees Danny's smile slip from his face and waits for him to nod before continuing. ''The same goes to the rest of the pack. I know Derek would help me with that and Boyd probably wouldn't have too many restrictions about torturing you either.'' Danny grows pale and tries to retreat but Stiles' spell not-only-for-silence keeps him in place. ''Also, if something happens to Derek that he doesn't like, he won't do anything, but I and the rest of the pack will.'' Danny frowns at the mention of Derek but doesn't say anything. ''Do you understand?''

Danny nods, first slow, then again, more decisive.

''Okay,'' says Stiles, leaning back, relaxing. ''Now, we've been talking about your hacking incident and how your computer skills may be helpful and that's why your heartbeat's accelerated, it was a crime, after all.''

Danny nods and tries to pull himself together, lets out a startled laugh, shakes his head. ''Yeah, okay.''

Stiles breaks the spell.

***

That evening Stiles goes back home early. He comes in, says ''Hi,'' walks into the kitchen, drinks a glass of water, checks the wards around the house, goes out of the kitchen. He pauses next to the stairs but decides to go to the living room and plops down on the couch.

His dad glances up at him questioningly from the papers covering the table. ''Is something wrong?'' he asks.

Stiles starts saying no, then decides to be honest and shrugs, then guesses nothing's really wrong and finishes saying no.

His dad raises his eyebrows.

Stiles lets out a deep sigh and leans back on the couch, the soft furniture sucking him in. ''Danny joined the pack today,'' he says eventually.

His dad straightens and regards him more carefully. ''Danny Mahealani? I thought you liked him?''

Stiles grimaces. ''He uses mind magic,'' he replies.

''The same one that you-''

''Yeah,'' Stiles cuts him off, not wanting to be reminded of the whole thing. ''But that's not... I mean, he kept arguing with his father. And today, Mr. Mahealani signed his contract and just went out, even though Danny wasn't finished yet. And Danny didn't look at him or anything.''

The sheriff frowns slightly. ''You're worried about him?''

Stiles wonders about it. ''Not really,'' he shrugs. ''I was just thinking,'' he pauses and twists his mouth, ''Danny has Isaac, they are really close. But only Derek knew about it.''

''Derek, huh,'' says his dad.

Stiles can already tell what will be the next question and groans. For some weird reason, his dad likes Derek. ''No,'' he says, shaking his head slowly. He drops it on the headrest of the couch. ''No more issues today. I'm going to sleep.''

***

The issues come back the next day.

''Why are you defending them? Maybe it wasn't Danny's idea to stay neutral, but he went with it. He kept training mind magic. He _let_ people get hurt and hurt them himself,'' says Stiles bluntly. ''It makes him an asshole in my definition.''

''It was training-'' starts Isaac, then gives up, turning away. Stiles didn't expect the sudden silence from Isaac and blinks at him but Isaac only shrugs, still not looking at him. ''He said he'll try to help us later when we're more or less established.''

Stiles sighs. It feels like he's having the same argument over and over again. ''We could've been dead by now, Isaac.''

''Danny is a good guy,'' says Isaac. ''He's my friend. I trust him as much as the rest of you.''

''If a friend watches you almost die and doesn't do anything about it, it's a shitty friend,'' replies Stiles with raised eyebrows.

''It's not-'' Isaac grimaces, looks away, then glances up at all of them and blurts out, ''I _like_ him.''

Stiles stares at him, incredulous. He flits his eyes to Derek, who shrugs lightly. ''But,'' Stiles starts, turning back to Isaac, ''he is a guy,'' he states lamely.

Isaac rolls his eyes, trying to hide the way he blushes. ''Of all the people, you, Stiles, to say that-''

''Okay, okay,'' Stiles interrupts him, annoyed. ''I was just sure you're straight.''

Isaac shrugs, pretending to watch Attack on Titan playing on TV. ''Thought so too,'' he mumbles.

When the pack won't stop regarding him, incredibly curious, he adds, ''I don't know, okay? I don't like guys. I just like Danny.''

''I think that's the cutest thing I've ever heard,'' says Allison, making Scott turn to her, offended.

''The cutest shit, maybe,'' mutters Stiles.

''You're just bitter Danny's gayer than you,'' says Jackson, smirking. ''He can turn straight guys.''

''First, not a compliment, second, you're next,'' shoots Stiles back.

''I found a spell that can turn my body into one of a men's, so don't worry about me,'' says Lydia.

Jackson's too shocked to reply, staring at Lydia.

Stiles isn't much better. ''Wow, you're like, prepared,'' he manages after a while.

''Of course,'' answers Lydia primly.

***

Stiles is evidently not prepared for checking his mobile after the party back in college.

Stiles: wut r u mia or awol

Stiles: liek voldemrt noone takl abut u

 _I did not send those,_ thinks Stiles, watching the texts with wide eyes. _Not to-_

Derek: I appreciate your concern. I'm fine.

Stiles puts his phone away and looks out of the window. Ten seconds pass and his phone is back in his hands.

Stiles: wtf i drunk texted u

Stiles: im really in college now

Derek: Is that a rite of passage?

Stiles: yeah kinda

Stiles: what else do u do in college? drunken hookups and bodyshots?

Derek: Study, mostly.

Derek: You could join a step-dancing club.

Stiles frowns at the text, wondering why Derek would choose that example.

Stiles: i can c u in a step-dancing club

Stiles: or stand up comedy

Derek: No, I was actually in the Criminal Justice Society.

Stiles: now i feel stupid

Stiles: im at boarding games club

Stiles: ooh but we have hiking society

Stiles: joined them too

...for reasons Stiles isn't sure of himself. He should stop the conversation before he thinks about it.

Stiles: mtfbwy

Derek: NC

He replies almost immediately. Stiles has no idea what to think of Derek recognizing the Star Wars reference this easily.

***

Stiles: a guy calld me wizard is h werewlof

Derek: Context?

Stiles: passed a quix we had

Derek: I don't think he's a werewolf, then.

Stiles: eah

Derek: Are you drunk again?

Stiles: only trying

Stiles: yea again ftw

Stiles: frgot y

Stiles: big deal

Derek: Do you have water?

Stiles: wdymbt? r u drunk?

Derek: No.

Stiles: u shuldve write oly trying

Stiles: haha

Derek: Stiles, I'm starting to get worried.

Derek: Stiles?

Derek: Text me or I'm going to call you.

Derek: And yes, that was supposed to sound like a threat.

Derek: Why are you talking about misdemeanors in your sleep?

Stiles: that's what the quiz yesterday was about

Stiles: y do i text u when i'm drunk

Stiles: its sad

Derek: Do you have some water?

Stiles: dude

Derek: You may be dehydrated. It's on Wikipedia.

Stiles: ill be fine i have some energy drinks

Stiles: i can see u scowling at ur phone

Derek: I'm scowling at Lydia. She didn't like using her magic yesterday against the shapeshifter.

Stiles: u had a shapeshifter? why didnt u call me? im emissary

Derek: I'll let you know next time, then.

***

The next time doesn't come before the winter break. Stiles goes to Derek's loft finally after the party, watches From the New World with him. The episode ends and Stiles moves to his laptop, scratches his head, lets his hand fall to the side. Derek, obviously, doesn't say anything. Stiles has never felt so many issues in the silence, questions about the mates thing, the emissary thing, the recurring texting thing.

He stands up and says, ''I'll make something for dinner.''

Not waiting for the answer, he escapes to the kitchen and moves around it. Anime helps them so much it's kind of sad, actually. It's not so much escapism anymore, Stiles has started watching more thought-provoking stuff recently after Psycho-Pass, but it's still a means to fill the silence.

He wonders which rice should he use and decides to just ask Derek which one he prefers. He comes back to the couch just to see Derek in headphones.

''Is this anime music,'' he blurts out. ''Dude, I'm not sure it's like, healthy-''

Derek notices him and takes off his headphones, too-quickly replying, ''No.''

Stiles narrows his eyes. ''Do you like j-pop music? K-pop?''

''No,'' repeats Derek, all tense.

Stiles leans against the wall. ''But you like listening to anime music.''

''I like Cowboy Bebop-''

''Doesn't count,'' dismisses Stiles at once.

Derek chooses his words carefully. ''There are some individual songs,'' he starts.

Stiles gives him a small grin and makes himself focus on that, ignore the awkwardness. That sounds fun and they can survive the evening, it may even turn out nice. It's the beginning of the new year, things _should_ be nice.

Derek plays the songs and Stiles rates each one. He doesn't hold himself back in his criticism, seeing that the words only make Derek smile, unexpectedly assertive.

***

Two weeks later, the whole pack will finally be back in Beacon Hills so they decide to invite pack-adjacents as well. Stiles eyes distrustfully his dad talking to Derek from the other end of the room. He wants to talk to Chris but the man seems busy all afternoon, always on his phone, texting. Stiles sits down next to Allison and observes him for a while.

''Does he always text so much?''

Allison shakes her head. ''No, but it's been like that for a few days now.''

''You know with whom he's texting?''

Allison frowns and says ''No.'' Then, she leans to her dad and asks, ''Who have you been texting all this time?''

Chris freezes before slowly looking up at her. ''A friend,'' he says vaguely.

Stiles huffs out a laugh at his expression and asks, wiggling his eyebrows, ''Just a friend?''

Chris snaps his gaze to him at once. ''Yes,'' he replies quickly.

Allison narrows her eyes. ''Who is it,'' she demands, her voice dropping low.

Chris shifts in his seat and grimaces. ''Promise me you'll at least try to understand,'' he starts.

Surprised, Allison leans back. ''Come on, it can't be that bad,'' she says, trying to catch his gaze.

Chris won't reply so she adds with a laugh, ''It's not like it's _Peter_ , right?''

Chris still doesn't answer.

***

''Come on, it can't be that bad,'' says Stiles. Even he tries to make Allison feel better.

''It's Peter,'' repeats Allison, shell-shocked. ''Like, _Peter_.''

***

It's shapeshifters.

Stiles drives back to Beacon Hills, listening to a pleasant, feminine voice describing, much too graphically for his taste, how exactly shapeshifters kill. Stiles grimaces and waits for that part to end, focusing on how to kill shapeshifters in turn. He wrinkles his nose, hearing another French word, untranslated from the original text Allison has found.

He gets to the preserve and hurries outside of his Jeep. He runs to the pack and sees Scott doing some kind of incredible attack, bending his body in amazing ways, distracting the shapeshifters enough so that Allison can kill them.

For a minute, they stand there in silence, watching the dead bodies, then Stiles blurts out, ''You move like Luffy.'' When Scott doesn't seem to understand, Stiles explains, ''You know, from One Piece. That guy.''

Scott doesn't get the reference, he's never liked anime or manga that much.

''He even has the right personality,'' agrees Derek.

Stiles snaps his head to him and grins, surprised. For a second, their eyes meet but then Derek looks away, turning to Boyd, lightly hurt.

Stiles keeps watching him for a moment longer, suddenly realizing the guy he's been texting is this Derek, right here in Beacon Hills, his alpha, the one that's always been so weird but now, it's not the first adjective Stiles would use.

The situation's messy, he knows, but he walks back to Derek's loft anyway, somehow convinced that it's not such a problem anymore. He doesn't think too much what it means, he is tired, he needs to strengthen the wards since he's here, visit his dad, read an article for his class.

He finds Allison and talks with her about the text she's found on the shapeshifters.

***

Because that's how it is – there is always other stuff to focus on.

He comes back to Beacon Hills another week and doesn't think about the latest texts from Derek, _to_ Derek, changing their atmosphere, because just as he parks before Derek's building, he can see Danny driving with Isaac. He waves at them and watches as they greet him back. Danny says something to Isaac, who replies, then shrugs and raises his hands to link them behind his headrest. Danny doesn't say anything more, only smiles at him.

Stiles waits as they get out and on the way to Derek's loft, asks, ''How did you guys even started like, talking with each other and stuff?'' He pauses and thinks about his question. ''Through Jackson?''

''No,'' Isaac shakes his head. ''It's because Danny was being weird.''

Danny smiles, self-satisfied, and looks ahead. ''I knew Isaac was a werewolf.''

''He dropped a pen and I caught it mid-air,'' continues Isaac. ''I used the werewolf fast response,'' he admits.

Stiles makes a face. ''It's like I hear Scott all over again.''

''I teased him a bit for that,'' recalls Danny. ''Said he has good reflexes.'' He smirks and looks at Isaac. ''You got so flushed.''

''You kept looking at me,'' complains Isaac. ''The next day we had lacrosse and you saw me knock out Jackson to the ground,'' he remembers and grimaces. ''Your fault, by the way, that Jackson got annoyed.''

Stiles raises his eyebrows. ''Annoyed?''

''Furious,'' explains Danny. ''He wanted to have an arm wrestling contest.''

''And you were still looking at me!'' calls Isaac, then huffs out and shrugs. ''I won.''

Stiles lets out a laugh, wondering where he's been all that time. Worrying about monsters and trying to sleep, probably.

''And then he says, _I didn't think you were this strong_ ,'' Isaac fights through his blush and rolls his eyes at Danny. ''I blurted out that I sometimes work out with Boyd.''

''Boyd works out?''

Isaac shoots Stiles an annoyed look. ''Not that I know of.''

''How come I've never realized how bad you're at lying?'' wonders Stiles and opens the door to Derek's loft.

They come inside and for a second, Stiles isn't sure what's different, before his eyes zero in on a Totoro mattress Isaac mentioned the evening preceding their face off with the alpha pack. Stiles freezes, realizing he's completely forgotten about the thing, and now remembers the other stuff mentioned in the conversation.

He sees from the corner of his eye as Isaac snaps his head to Derek at the same time as him, the tension growing as they wait for the inevitable.

Derek looks at Isaac without hurry and says, ''Also, I don't have a playroom.'' He pauses, glances in Stiles' direction and away. ''That doesn't mean I'm completely excluding BDSM.''

''Oh my god,'' Stiles lets out faintly.

Danny leans in, eyeing Derek. ''Are you into threesomes, tho-''

''Danny!'' hisses Isaac, bewildered. Stiles shoots Danny a glare.

''I feel like I should be taking notes,'' says Erica.

Stiles crosses his arms. ''I'm pretty sure Erica and Boyd wouldn't mind threesomes, if you're that interested,'' he says coldly.

''Really?'' muses Danny, regarding Boyd, who raises an eyebrow at him.

Isaac opens his mouth, then slowly closes it, studying Boyd with an odd look on his face.

''Is someone filming this?'' wonders Erica. ''I'd like to rewatch it later.''

***

Stiles should start filming Boyd making food. Each of his movement is precise and fluid as he adds the perfect amount of herbs, raises the heavy pans and pots with no effort.

Right now, though, instead of admiring the creation of steaks, he desperately fights through the need to ask Boyd about Erica, Isaac, and Danny,

''Who taught you how to cook?'' he blurts out finally.

''My grandma,'' replies Boyd, mixing the marinade.

Stiles hums and his thoughts take him to Erica, who rarely mentions her family.

''Erica comes over often to Derek's loft,'' he says.

Boyd shrugs. ''She likes it here more than her home.''

Stiles has no idea what to say to that.

''The next year we plan on living together,'' adds Boyd.

''Oh,'' says Stiles. He prides himself in limiting his response to that, waiting for Boyd to elaborate, but he stays silent. '' _Oh_ ,'' repeats Stiles, meaningful.

Still nothing.

'' _Ohh_ -''

Boyd stops moving and slowly turns to meet his gaze.

''Okay, okay!'' Stiles surrenders, raising his hands. ''Just curious, jeez.''

Boyd turns back to his marinate. ''Thanks for finding that therapist. Erica likes him.''

Stiles glances at him and shrugs, awkward. ''I don't think you've ever said this much to me,'' he notices.

''Don't get used to it,'' replies Boyd at once, grimacing slightly. ''I don't think I'll say anything more today.''

He doesn't. Stiles congratulates him before going to sleep on Totoro's mattress.

***

The next evening, instead of writing his essay on the Erie doctrine, Stiles tries to calm himself down after the hunters' attack and watches Kino's Journey, plastered to Derek's warm side on the sofa, when he feels the tug.

''It's her,'' he grits out, already standing. ''The witch. The one that mind-screwed me,'' he spits.

There's a flurry of movement around him but Stiles keeps standing in place, so furious he can't do anything for a second, seething.

Once he manages to overcome the emotion, Stiles grabs his herbs and baseball bat, takes on his shoes and is ready to leave.

 

 

It's a while before Derek catches up to him, already shifted and with a torn shirt from the earlier fight. Once they find the witch, Stiles raises his bat and props it on his shoulder, the magic surging around it, strengthening the wood. His clothes are dirty from the fight with the hunters, his wounds must have reopened as he was going through the preserve and now he's bleeding again. What's worse, Derek's bleeding as well. Stiles will have to apply some horsetail later, _shut it about the werewolf healing._

The witch looks the same as before, the only change are her designer clothes and shoes. She's strong but Stiles can feel his magic, the pack, the territory. It's the most powerful he's ever been.

He smirks.

''I see everything's worked itself out?'' she questions, regarding first Stiles, then Derek, crouching at his side, still shifted.

''Uh, no,'' replies Stiles, the smirk falling off his face. He puts his hand on Derek's nape, finding the man's warmth comforting. ''And _fuck you_ , by the way.''

She watches him for a while, considering. ''Oh well,'' she sighs, ''not like it matters now.''

Stiles was expecting her badly concealed anger and frustration. Faced with her indifference, he's completely thrown. ''Huh?''

She raises her eyebrows at him. ''You're kinda dull, aren't you.''

Before Stiles can reply, Derek snarls at her. Stiles only now realizes his right hand is curled around Stiles' hip protectively.

''I study at Berkeley,'' answers Stiles, offended.

''Good for you,'' she says absent-mindedly, her focus already somewhere else. ''Banshee,'' she says, noticing Lydia, and tips her head with respect.

Stiles can only gape at the difference in treatment.

''I see you have quite an inclination towards magic,'' continues the witch, eyeing Lydia. ''It's an honor. And none of your magic is wasted on the others.''

Stiles flips her off, annoyed, but the witch doesn't seem to notice, all her attention on Lydia.

''There's a lot I could teach you.''

''No thanks,'' replies Lydia cooly. ''I don't like magic.''

For a while, the witch is stunned into silence. ''You don't like magic?'' she repeats, seemingly not quite understanding the words.

Lydia shrugs. ''I prefer mathematics.''

Again, the witch doesn't reply at first. ''I can't imagine anyone wouldn't be interested in magic,'' she argues. ''Think of the _power_ you could gain.''

''I don't care about power,'' says Lydia, sounding a little bored. She is inspecting her nails.

The witch can't quite find an answer to that and Stiles cuts in with a, ''Now who's the dull one, huh?''

The witch tightens her lips, displeased. ''Sooner or later you'll change your mind, girl.''

''Don't think so,'' replies Lydia. ''The supernatural world is full of fights for power, violence, and gutting each other. I have better things to do.''

Finally, the witch shifts her focus from Lydia to Derek, who's now standing next to Stiles, his face back to human, but eyes blazing red and claws still out.

''The alpha pack was here, I've heard,'' she says. Derek nods tersely.

''Bunch of wusses,'' the witch comments with a grimace. ''Wouldn't take Beacon Hills because of the Nemeton. They are dead, though.''

Everyone snaps the attention to her at once. ''Dead?'' asks Erica.

''One guy killed them,'' answers the witch. ''Said to pass to you these words: _Listen, that's great if you want to save the world, but could you do it somewhere else, this is a restricted area_.''

Stiles can feel the way Derek tenses next to him, his eyes wide.

''You have fifteen minutes to leave the territory,'' states Stiles, his voice hard, not leaving any doubts. ''I see you again, I will kill you.''

''I wouldn't come to this shithole anyway,'' the witch sneers but she's already retreating into the preserve.

''Why does everyone say that about Beacon Hills?'' explodes Scott. ''I love Beacon Hills, okay, and- ''

***

''-and I can't see how people would want to live away from their pack,'' finishes Scott, frowning at Derek.

Derek shrugs, not meeting his gaze. ''He said it was overwhelming at times when I asked him. Some people just prefer to stay alone.''

''Aren't they lonely then?''

''That's why he was visiting,'' replies Derek. ''And that's why he sent this message,'' he adds after a moment.

Stiles frowns. ''I thought it meant he wants to be left alone.''

Derek shakes his head. ''If he's sent a special message to be left alone, it means he wants someone to visit him. I'm not sure who, though.''

''Not my dad,'' replies Allison at once, when everyone turns to her. She keeps still, her eyes on the floor. ''Not my dad.''

''Remember that omega that was crossing through our territory?'' asks Derek, looking at Scott. ''She was like that too. She smelled like omega but her eyes were gold like a beta's.''

Scott nods but doesn't seem convinced.

***

Derek desperately needs convincing how difficult Stiles' Criminal Law class is.

Stiles: its like every rule has an exception

Stiles: well maybe except for 1

Stiles: take a guess

Derek: IANAL, Stiles.

Stiles stares at the unfamiliar abbreviation and before he lets himself think anything, types it in the browser. _I Am Not A Lawyer,_ he reads.

Stiles: dont u read ur abbreviations

Derek: I can't tell why you keep thinking I use those carelessly. I do understand both meanings and want you to catch them as well.

Stiles' eyes widen as he reads the sentences, then he bites his lip. He has no idea how to respond.

Derek: I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.

Stiles: its ok

That's the problem, realizes Stiles. It really is okay. Just now, Derek was flirting with him and Stiles didn't mind that, worse, it was actually nice.

Slowly, the history of his encounters with Derek change, all of them fitting, creating a bigger image, like a puzzle. From Derek's anger and annoyance at first, shifting into gentle care and hard-to-read blank faces, turning into concealed hurt and then, unexpected friendship, Derek's small smiles, his protectiveness and...

It all starts to make a fucked up sense.

It's better not to think about it.

Stiles: see? criminal law ruins EVERYTHING

Stiles: and i meant presumption of innocence

Stiles: u know what criminal law tells u

Stiles: that rules r meant to b broken

Stiles: BY EVERYONE

Derek: Can I see your course curriculum?

***

Derek: I've tried this energy drink you always buy.

Derek: It's disgusting.

Stiles: wut is this masterchef

Derek: Why do you keep on taking the worst energy drink possible? I've seen the ones with vitamins. At least they are trying.

Stiles: ugh vitamins

Derek: R u 4

Stiles: it never ceases to amaze me when u write like that

Derek: I bought you some better energy drinks for the next time you're in BH.

***

Derek: I went with Scott to the ice cream parlor they've just opened.

Stiles: omg do u have sweet tooth

Derek: Don't you have a class now? Focus on that.

Stiles: i cant when i wonder if u like eating sweet things

Derek: I'm ignoring the obvious joke. I want you to know that I see it but I choose to ignore it.

Stiles snorts, reading the text, muffling the sound in his sleeve.

Stiles: there's something that makes me think abt u during Property course

Stiles: its name, probably

Derek: I don't think that's a good thing.

Stiles: yeah

Stiles: dont take it as a compliment

Derek: I don't have to. I have caramel chocolate ice cream.

Stiles: ughh

***

The pack is busy, everyone staying at their universities, leaving Derek alone in Beacon Hills during the full moon. Stiles feels bad for the guy and drives back to the town.

Derek looks – well, there's just something – odd – _different_ about him. Stiles can't put his thumb on it and deals with his uncertainty by talking a lot. Derek doesn't seem to mind, listens to him, only at times turning to regard him and curling up his lips slowly.

Stiles loses his thread. He stares at Derek and swallows.

Derek keeps his gaze, still smiling.

Stiles finally realizes why the whole thing wears a resemblance to another memory. Derek's been like that before, right after he's killed those new transfer students.

''I- you can go out,'' he blurts out.

Derek's smile grows and he leans in. ''I wouldn't want to leave you alone,'' he replies, his voice silky smooth.

''No, I, uh, I wouldn't want to keep you,'' Stiles rushes in with the answer.

''I don't mind,'' says Derek and closes his eyes, moving in even closer. ''You smell so nice.''

Stiles' heart is thudding in his chest.

''I thought you have an anchor,'' he says, ''that you can control it.''

''I can,'' replies Derek, opening back his eyes. ''But why would I want to?''

Stiles has no idea how to answer that without displeasing Derek, but something must give away his uneasiness.

Derek's expression turns crestfallen. ''I know you don't want me like that,'' he says, so obviously hurt it's hard to look at him. ''But I don't understand why. You're my mate, my emissary.'' He keeps watching Stiles and adds in a softer voice, ''You make me think of you.''

The last sentence takes Stiles' breath away.

''I'm sorry-''

Derek suddenly smiles at him, still not retreating. '' _But you're here_.''

Stiles can't tear his eyes away. Full Moon Derek is an emotional rollercoaster.

There's a sound outside and Derek whips his head away, listening in. He stays like that, unmoving for a few seconds.

''You can go outside,'' says Stiles. ''I'll wait here.''

Derek looks at him, his eyes wide and expression unbearably hopeful. ''You will?''

''Yeah,'' Stiles replies, can't imagine saying anything else. ''I'll be here.''

***

A few days later, sitting in the ice cream parlor the next time he's in Beacon Hills, Stiles suddenly has a terrible thought. He looks around slowly and the conclusion is the same – he is the only one here, at the table, who doesn't have regular sex.

Scott and Allison, Lydia and Jackson, Erica and Boyd – if they aren't together yet they'll be sooner than Stiles will get sex – Isaac and Danny, _ugh, Danny_ , _unless it's Erica &Boyd&Isaac&Danny_, Stiles hates his friends.

At that moment, Derek comes back to the table with some ice cream.

''Thanks,'' says Stiles, taking the dessert from him.

Derek frowns down at his phone and explains, ''Peter,'' before leaving to talk outside.

Lydia raises her eyebrow at Stiles.

''What?'' says Stiles defensively.

''You're kinda close to Derek recently,'' notices Lydia.

Stiles shrugs. ''Oh, did you know Derek also belonged to outdoor and hiking club in college? We went hiking yesterday. He's awesome at natural navigation.'' Stiles smiles at the memory. ''Seriously, he is such a dork.''

When Lydia doesn't respond, Stiles looks up just to see her disgusted face. ''You've got it bad,'' she states.

''Uh, no,'' replies Stiles, frowning. '' _He_ 's got it bad. _I_ don't have it at all.''

Lydia regards him for a while, not responding. ''Is that how it looks like when you're lying to yourself?''

''What?''

''I'd say so,'' speaks up Erica, not raising her eyes from the game on her phone.

Stiles turns to look at her. ''Right,'' he says haltingly, ''Derek started seeing that therapist you visit.''

Erica pauses her game and glances up at him, surprised. ''Really?''

''Yeah,'' says Stiles quietly, feeling everyone's gaze on him. ''He said it's okay.'' He shrugs, not sure what else to add when Derek didn't say much himself.

Everyone keeps quiet, thinking over the news. Scott uses the distraction to steal some of Stiles' ice cream.

''Peter wants someone to visit him,'' says Derek, coming back. His eyebrows are drawn together but then he smiles, seeing Scott and Stiles, still fighting. He sits down next to Stiles and continues, ''I think. I'm not sure what he meant.''

Allison's face contorts in pain and she starts playing with her melted ice cream. ''My dad mentioned going somewhere for a few days,'' she says, then sighs. ''He said he's got a _case_.''

''Correlation doesn't mean causation,'' recites Stiles from his Statistics class, desperately trying to keep a spoon full of his ice cream away from Scott. He manages to steer it to the side and Scott glares at him, wiping his cheek.

''Come on, if Peter is having sex and I don't- that's just _wrong,_ '' says Stiles.

''Don't say that,'' pleads Allison weakly.

''Peter would just say he is with Chris,'' shrugs Lydia. ''Why wouldn't he?''

''Maybe he respects Chris' decision to tell Allison when she's ready,'' tries Danny.

'' _Never_ ,'' replies Allison at once, intense.

''Maybe he cares,'' adds Danny. Allison raises her head to look at him together with the rest of the pack, terrified at the thought.

''Maybe,'' allows Lydia, unconvinced. ''But why would Peter be vague when talking to Derek?''

''To be the topic of our discussion, probably,'' says Derek, grimacing slightly.

Stiles makes a face. ''That's so childish,'' he comments highly.

''Seriously, if anyone else was to make that comment I'd agree,'' says Jackson, Isaac and Derek nodding at his words.

Stiles turns to regard Derek, offended. ''You know that agreeing with Jackson means you're making a mistake.''

Derek quirks an eyebrow and his lips curl up slightly. ''Am I?'' he asks, turning to Stiles and propping his elbow on the table to look at him better.

It strikes Stiles how attractive he looks. His confidence and power, especially with yesterday's display of dorkiness, it's a good mix.

''Either you are wrong or I am, so,'' replies Stiles with a shrug, all faux confidence.

Derek laughs at the lame joke anyway.

It's a shame he doesn't plan on having anyone. He could make someone so happy, he has this gentle, caring side, sense of humor, he's patient. Stiles wonders what kind of person Derek would like. It should be someone that makes Derek laugh like this, someone that will care for him just as much, and well, conveniently, someone that knows about supernatural-

***

''...and someone who likes anime, hiking, who the pack will accept. You get it, Scott?''

''No,'' answers Scott later that day, regarding Stiles oddly with wide eyes. ''I mean-'' Scott pauses and frowns. Somehow, Stiles is sure he won't like whatever Scott's going to tell him. ''Dude, you're mates. He's your mate.''

Stiles rolls his eyes. The argument's so old it barely holds any meaning to him now. ''Anyway,'' he continues, undeterred, ''since Derek can't be with anyone because of me, I'll find someone for Derek. That makes sense, right?''

''No,'' repeats Scott.

''It makes perfect sense,'' replies Stiles. ''I'll show you-''

***

''...that we need to find someone for Derek,'' states Stiles, watching the pack.

Lydia stands up. ''I'm leaving,'' she says flatly and starts walking to the door.

''What- I haven't even started!'' calls Stiles after her. ''Why?''

''Because my alpha already has a mate,'' she replies and closes the doors after her.

Stiles winces at her response.

''Can someone tell me what's going on?'' asks Danny, confused.

''Theoretically, I'm Derek's mate, but I won't be with Derek, so since Derek can't be with anyone because of me, he takes this mates thing seriously, I want to find someone for Derek,'' explains Stiles. He moves to his laptop, ignoring Danny's stunned expression and Isaac's muttered, ''In the previous episode of our Brazilian telenovela...''

''I prepared the whole presentation with diagrams and tables showing what kind of person Derek needs-''

Jackson groans and stands up. ''I'm leaving,'' he states and, the same as Lydia, walks to the door.

''Well,'' starts Stiles, ''no one wanted you here anyway!''

Jackson pauses to look at him disbelievingly. ''You invited me, Stilinski.''

''You were barely Lydia's plus one, Whittemore!''

The only response he gets is the sound of the door closing.

''Fine,'' bites out Stiles, turning to his laptop once again. ''Here you can see what kind of person Derek would like,'' he says, pausing at one of the slides. ''Do you know somebody like that?''

Erica draws in her eyebrows, regarding the list. ''Is that a trick question?'' she asks, uncertain.

''Uh,'' Stiles frowns, ''no, why?''

''Because that sounds like you.''

Stiles slowly drags his gaze to the list and looks at it in a completely different light.

''I'm not sure I follow,'' says Danny. ''If you're Derek's mate, then aren't you the perfect person for Derek? Isn't that how it works?''

Stiles glances at him and watches him, thoughtful, before answering. ''No,'' he replies finally, so obviously unsure of himself that it makes Isaac cringe. ''That would be a soulmate, right?''

***

''There is no such thing as a soulmate, Stiles,'' replies Deaton. He even has the audacity to sound annoyed.

''Okay, but the thing is, I need to find someone for Derek because I won't be with him. So, that's fine?'' asks Stiles, then decides to push it further. ''You'll help?''

Deaton looks at him, pausing in his work. ''I'm afraid I don't understand, Stiles. You are already with Derek.''

Stiles frowns at him. ''No, we're not together,'' he says.

''But you're his emissary.''

''Well, yeah, but that's like,'' Stiles tries to find the right expression, '' _business partners_ , you know?''

Deaton doesn't grace that with an answer. ''The point is, you already are with Derek. You talk with him, spend time together,'' explains Deaton, ''so you _are_ mates, even if it's not romantic on your part.''

Stiles stares at him, having no idea how to respond, the information slowly sinking in. Finally, he looks away. ''Does Derek know that?''

Deaton keeps quiet and after a moment, Stiles lets out a short, bitter laugh.

''Of course he doesn't,'' he answers himself. ''He is convinced his mate hated him most of the time, only recently managing a tentative friendship with no hope of anything more,'' he says.

It shouldn't be startling. Stiles has already known that. He didn't necessarily look at the whole thing from Derek's perspective, too occupied with his own, but he shouldn't feel like an asshole just for defending his freedom of choice.

God, he is such an asshole.

''There are other kinds of magic you should try doing, being an emissary,'' says Deaton suddenly. He walks to his desk and takes out another one of his huge tomes. Stiles wonders briefly if he changes the covers just so that the books create the right atmosphere. ''Here,'' he says.

Stiles takes the tome and reads, ''Fortune telling?''

Deaton nods. ''It's best done during the evening or at night, in the forest, with the alpha present.''

It feels like his words have a second meaning but Stiles is so surprised with _fortune telling_ he doesn't think much of it-

***

Deaton is shipping them.

Stiles slowly lifts his gaze and looks at Derek, sitting in the living room with the rest of the pack. Deaton is totally shipping them, giving Stiles an excuse to have a _date_ with Derek.

Stiles looks back at the text he was reading and thinks, _This is such a great idea_.

He can't believe he hasn't thought of that himself. It's not all or nothing. They can start _slow_.

He stands up and puts the book on his work table. Walks into the living room, watches the whole pack somehow squashed onto one Totoro mattress. Derek is talking with Boyd, they are probably gossiping like thirteen-year-olds, watching Isaac and Scott, both bickering with Danny. Next to them, Jackson studies Vogue together with Lydia like their life depends on it, Allison glancing at the photos with interest. Erica is doing Allison a manicure, heavily Ghibli films' inspired.

Stiles presses himself next to Derek, graciously ignoring Boyd's look.

''Did you know that some people eat Nutella without butter?'' asks Siles. ''For example Derek.''

''Yes,'' replies Boyd. ''For example me.''

''Really?'' asks Stiles, surprised. ''Well, guess I still have something to teach you,'' he states and claps Boyd's arm.

Boyd stares at him, unblinking, before sighing suddenly.

Stiles grins and turns to Derek, leaning back and ignoring Jackson's hiss.

''Can you go to the preserve with me tonight? Deaton wanted me to check some things.''

 _Almost casual_ , he grades his come-on.

''Sure,'' replies Derek, unsuspectful.

***

It's darkening around them but Stiles has never felt safer, Derek next to him, the flow of magic strong, his friends and family okay.

Stiles manages to find a dead raven – he'd rather not sacrifice an animal for this shit. He kneels next to the remains for haruspicy, facing the south. He closes his eyes, draws in a breath and starts speaking in Latin before searching for the bird's liver to inspect.

None of the parts seems to be missing, grown particularly large, small, or disfigured, so he considers that a good omen. Finished with inspecting, Stiles takes off the gloves and burns the remains, watching the magical flames, subsiding in a moment.

Derek glances at him, checking if he's okay, and just with that simple gesture, Stiles finds himself letting out, ''Deaton said we're mates.''

Derek looks away and tenses next to him. Without thinking, Stiles stands up and lays his hand on Derek's shoulder. Slowly, by increments, Stiles can feel Derek relaxing into the touch as they start walking again.

''I've always thought mates were supposed to be closer,'' Stiles picks up. ''But just staying like that, being together, makes us mates.''

Derek flits his eyes to him and away, startled. Stiles keeps looking forward – they are on a path in a dense part of the forest but the moonlight is still present.

''Ever since I met you I wouldn't stop thinking about you,'' says Stiles. From the corner of his eye, he can see Derek turning to him and continues. ''Either because I couldn't understand you, because I was angry with you, or for any other reason,'' Stiles shrugs lightly and bites his lower lip. ''But I wouldn't stop thinking about you.''

The trail Derek chooses now is leading uphill. Stiles wonders if it's the humans' or the animals' path. He imagines asking Derek and listening to his explanation, then smiles a bit at how willing Derek would be to talk about that.

''I like college,'' he says instead. ''All the stuff that has been happening here, in Beacon Hills, I wanted to forget it, just leave it behind. I didn't let myself think how much the rest of the supernatural meant to me.'' Stiles looks at the ground and continues. ''Studying, parties, new city and people, it's all fun,'' he says, then raises his head. ''But I missed the pack, magic, even the monsters and the fights, just all those things here. I guess I'm not like Lydia, I like the supernatural.''

They finally step out to the meadow at the higher ground. Stiles watches the view, Beacon Hills in the distance, the clear sky with stars, perfect to augur from.

''I missed you,'' he says.

Derek keeps his gaze on Stiles.

Stiles turns to him as well, smiling. ''I love you,'' he says. ''You've shown me that power is nothing without being guided by love.''

Derek parts his lips, staring at Stiles. ''That's...'' he pauses, his throat working around the words. ''That's from Dragon Ball Z.''

Stiles lets his smile grow. ''You're Before Anyone Else for me.''

A slight crease appears on Derek's face and Stiles feels like reaching out and smoothing it. ''The abbreviation is BAE,'' says Derek.

''That too,'' Stiles replies easily.

Derek smiles back at him, seems helpless to do anything else, and Stiles laughs a bit, happiness filling him up and spilling outside.

Stiles leans in closer, stopping just as their faces are barely inches apart. ''You've been so good for me,'' he says quietly. ''Waiting all this time, _giving_ me all this time, your friendship-''

''I wanted you to choose,'' Derek interrupts him softly, his breath feeling hot. ''And no matter what you did, you were always honest with me.''

''I want to be so good for you,'' Stiles rushes to say, ''I will keep hiking with you, I won't tease you about your nerdy collection of anime, manga, and the Catbus keychain.''

Derek finally fully smiles and Stiles can't tear his eyes away. ''That's very specific,'' he says, slightly amused.

''I will keep cooking for you.''

''Like you've been this last month?''

''If you want me to,'' replies Stiles, as honest as he can be. ''Anything you want, Derek.''

He can't wait any longer and kisses Derek. It's not slow, chaste, or sweet – almost immediately it grows deeper, heat coursing through them, making them flush their bodies, shed their clothes frantically.

Stiles can feel how big Derek's hands are on his body, how warm he is and how soft is his hair. He cannot possibly focus on one thing, there's so much that he needs to pay attention to and he still wants more.

They are lying down, Derek's body covering his. Derek is kissing him, one hand always on Stiles' face or in his hair, as the other tries to reach everywhere. Stiles arches his back as he can feel Derek's cock and starts shifting, dragging his dick up and down, moans at the feeling. Derek bites his neck, kisses it, coats it with saliva and just breaths in before joining in the movements. It's not enough, though, and Stiles realizes he's whining softly, wanting more. Derek stares at his face, his eyes blaring red, and takes his hands away from Stikes' body even as he keeps moving.

Stiles realizes he must be losing control and feels a rush of power and lust at it. Derek drops his head to Stiles' shoulder and breaths in for a moment. Stiles turns to kiss his cheek , the skin under his ear, his neck, before reaching down to close his fist around their lengths. He parts his lips on a silent exhale, his breathing heavy. It feels like there's nothing better than this feeling, right now, before Derek raises his head to kiss him again and moves his hips to fuck into Stiles' fist. Stiles moans into the kiss, knows he won't last long, but then, Derek suddenly stops and grips Stiles' hand, not letting him move anymore.

Stiles is panting, can feel his cheeks, neck, shoulders being flushed but he stays unmoving, staring at Derek with wide eyes. A moment passes before Derek curls his fingers around Stiles' and starts moving their fists, hunched up over Stiles. God, there's nothing Stiles wants to see more than Derek's intense stare, the way he never looks away, as if determined to catch every expression Stiles makes and every sound he lets out of his lips.

Derek's thumb starts massaging the area just under Stiles' crown and he throws his head back, crying out. His come spills on his stomach and Derek rides him through his orgasm before adjusting his grip on his cock and with three more tugs he's coming as well, moaning softly into Stiles' skin.

He lays next to Stiles, still close enough that they are touching on the whole length of their bodies.

Remembering what he's read once, Stiles mixes their come on his stomach without hurry and slowly spreads it around, watching how Derek's gaze follows his movements. Stiles tilts his head back and coats his neck with the scent, then slowly trails his fingers upwards, smearing his face with still-warm come, leading some to his mouth, dirtying it, then cleaning his fingers, reveling in Derek's attention. He can't get enough of his hungry expression.

Stiles feels Derek's fingers tightening in his hair, his nostrils flaring, his eyes darkened with want. Seconds later they are kissing again, Stiles moaning into it, arching his body.

''You smell so-'' Derek licks and bites his neck, then just smells it again. '' _Fuck,'_ ' he curses and Stiles can feel Derek's cock twitching against his thigh. ''Why did you- ?''

''I've read somewhere how important smells are for werewolves,'' replies Stiles and smirks. ''Thought you may like it.''

Derek leans his head on Stiles' shoulder, breathing him in. ''But you're human,'' he says quietly. ''You- ''

''I don't mind,'' Stiles interrupts him gently. ''I wanted to do that for you.'' He pets Derek's hair and gives him a small kiss, unbearably grateful for having this moment just with Derek, away from everything else.

It takes them a while to get up but the night is warm. Soon, they set up their tent and eat dinner, Derek showing Stiles the constellations he knows and telling how they help in navigation.

Stiles feels so good he's afraid to trust it. He finds his magic and forms the spell to search for any traces of mind manipulation but finds none, then checks the pack bonds, present and strong, feels the wards encompassing the territory. He curls up closer to Derek, who brings his arm around Stiles and tilts his head to say quietly just behind his ear, ''I can't believe you're here.''

''I am,'' Stiles replies at once and moves closer to Derek, slipping his head under Derek's chin. ''Mate,'' he says softly, tasting the word, instantly gratified as he hears Derek's sharp intake a breath. Derek curls his fingers around the base of Stiles' head and tugs at his hair to give him a short, hard kiss.

Stiles lets out a soft breath as they part and lets his head fall on Derek's arm. ''I like it the way it is now,'' he says, closing his eyes for a while. He checks the herbs he always takes with himself, no matter where he goes, feels the potential of the spells under his fingertips. He glances down at his typical-college-student's sneakers. ''Everything about it,'' he adds to Derek's skin.

''Me too,'' Derek says just as quietly, then gives Stiles a small kiss.

And it's true.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The mentioned pack are the Lems in Roseburg because of the "Kongres futurologiczny" (The Futurological Congress) by Stanisław Lem.


End file.
